


Under The Bleachers

by areyouserial



Category: Joshifer - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N - This is the next installment in the HS Joshifer series Under the Bleachers. It is AU. Enjoy!</p></blockquote>





	1. Under The Bleachers

"You lost?"

His voice drifts over to me from the shadowy corner where the slanted metal bleachers meet above his head.

My fingers play at the hem of my blue and white cheerleading skirt and I manage a swallow before finding my voice. I was half hoping he’d be here while the other half of me was hoping to find this spot empty.

"No," I answer.

He lifts his head and pulls one bud of his headphones from his ear. His gaze drops, blazing a trail that it shouldn’t down the length of my body and I feel a sudden heat bloom in its wake.

I watch the hard angle of his jaw flex as his teeth crush a piece of gum. His assessment of me complete, apparently, he moves to replace the earbud in his ear as he looks away.

I speak up. “I hear I should talk to you.” I make my way a few steps closer, slowly approaching the boy leaning up against the railings that hold up this structure. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, exposing the curve of his throat, the dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

"Oh yeah?" He tastes his lips and I notice the faintest upward tic at the corners there. Then he picks up his head and glances my way once more. "Why’s that?"

The soft crunch of grass beneath my pristine white tennis shoes announces my presence as I make my way toward him. “I heard…” I tilt my head and a smile skims along my face, the kind that surfaces when I want something, as my gaze meets his.

He doesn’t move, just lowers his chin and watches me. His dark lashes are thick and lovely, a notable contrast from the sharp edges of the rest of him. He wears simply a black t-shirt, the material thin and well-worn along with an inky dark pair of jeans and boots. His chestnut brown hair is a mess, like someone had just had her hands in it.

"That…" I continue, "I should come to you. My friends said you could sell us some weed." I finally let the words tumble out. I thought I would feel really cool coming down underneath the bleachers in the middle of the school day to score pot from Josh Hutcherson, but I was starting to feel really stupid. Especially saying my request out loud.

"Your friends," he echoes. He removes his earbuds and drapes them around his neck. "Shitty friends to send you out to track me down all by yourself."

"They didn’t send me," I insist. "Besides, you aren’t hard to track down. You’re always out here."

His brows draw together. “How do you know where I always am?”

"Well, you’re never in class."

He eases off his perch against the railing and takes a step closer to me. “You keeping tabs on me, cheerleader?”

"My name is Jennifer."

"I know your name."

"Look, can I get it, or not?"

"How much do you want?"

I stroke my hand down the length of my ponytail and flip it over my shoulder before I fold my arms self-consciously across my chest. I wasn’t even sure the right words to use. I’m suddenly pissed that my boyfriend, Blake, isn’t doing this for me. “I have fifty bucks.”

Josh studies me for a moment, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, then lowers himself to his bookbag on the ground. He throws open the zipper and rummages around inside for a moment. Unrolling a brown paper bag, then another he pulls from it, he eventually produces a clear plastic baggie. He rises to his feet and comes closer, handing it over with the flick of two fingers.

I slide my hand into the neckline of my fitted, sleeveless top and slip the folded bill out from my bra strap. We make our exchange and I reach down at my hip and stuff the bag inside the small purse that’s slung across my torso.

"Thanks," I mutter. Uncomfortable, I glance around, afraid to let my eyes settle anywhere on him. I have no intentions of explaining myself to him. But he probably doesn’t care anyway. "So is this what you do all day?" I ask, craning my neck to peer up from underneath the bleachers on the football field. "Hang out down here and waste time?" I begin to pace the grass, aimlessly running my hand along the metal rafters.

"Guess so," he responds. "Although it doesn’t feel like a waste right now."

"True, you did just make fifty dollars standing here doing nothing," I figure.

"No, I meant seeing you here." He reaches up and hooks his fingers around a metal bar. I watch the hem of his t-shirt ride up the length of his body, affording me a glimpse of his narrow waist, his flat stomach and the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath the edge of his jeans. "Beats class, that’s for sure."

I let my head drop to one side, fighting a hidden grin. “You never talk to me.”

"You never talk to  _me_ ,” he counters, a hint of a challenge flashes in his dark eyes.

I hold his flickering gaze with my own, letting a smirk play along my lips. I slide my hand up the path of one diagonal rafter. “What would we talk about?” I duck down and step through the spaces between them like a high stakes security breach where I’m not allowed to touch any of the sensor beams.

He leans his weight on the bar above his head while he watches me. I glance up and notice the curvy, black tattoo that brands the inside of his wrist. “Why don’t we talk about why you’re here.”

I look back at him and slink through another opening. “I made that pretty clear.”

"Ah, your moron friends could’ve bought half an ounce of bud off anybody."  

I offer a coy shrug. “I guess so.”

He holds onto one of the rafters and swings himself down and around, blocking my path to stand right in front of me as I step over another metal bar. “I do come to class, you know.”

"Mmm." A throaty hum floats out of me.

"Depending on how short your skirt is that day."

A breathy laugh escapes me and I reach out to shove his shoulder. “Stop it.”

"Makes coming to class a little more worthwhile."

I shake my head and press my lips together. “You’re a jerk.”

"Am I?" He finally smiles and it changes his whole face. His eyes catch the light and I see the mysterious green that shines in his otherwise dark irises. My gaze skims the faint freckles that just barely show themselves across his nose. "Because I like the way your legs look, I’m a jerk? Fine."

"That’s all you know about me, huh?" I wonder.

He offers a slight nod as if he’s perfectly fine with that being the extent of his knowledge. “How much do you know about me?”

I gaze upward, twisting my lips while I think about his question. “I know you drive a motorcycle.”

"Yeah?" The edge of his mouth perks up.

"Mm-hm." Everybody knew that, it was loud as hell everytime he blew into the Senior parking lot long after the late bell had already rung. "You love that thing, don’t you?"

He exhales a soft laugh. “I take good care of her. She’s mine.”

An amused smile tugs at my cheeks. “I’ve seen you fixing it,” I tell him. “Out on your driveway.”

His eyes connect with mine and they darken suddenly, his features noticeably stiffer. “What are you doing on my side of town?”

Our neighborhoods couldn’t be more different, his on the edge of city line while mine was the country club. It’s funny how just a few turns can land you in an entirely new world. “When I go for a run, sometimes I make it to your street before I turn back,” I explain. I knew exactly which house was his — it was tiny, and dingy with a bent chainlink fence surrounding it. I never saw anybody else around it, but now and then I would see Josh out on his front drive. Usually he was deeply involved with the parts of his bike and I had no idea what he was doing. I just knew when I saw him there, I suddenly had a thing for dirty t-shirts and the grease smudges on his forearms and the way his jaw set when he concentrated that hard.

His brow furrows as if he doesn’t like this information. “You shouldn’t be over there by yourself,” he mutters, pushing off the railing, he drops his arms. “You need to find a new street.”

I lower my chin and ease my head back, offended. “I’ll go where I want, thank you.”

"Well." He turns past me and swings himself around another metal rafter. "Sorry you have to look at that piece of shit."

"Don’t apologize for that," I say, a shadow in his path as I follow behind him. "Your house is fine."

He stops and turns quickly, halting my momentum and I nearly collide with his chest. “You don’t know shit about me, alright? Stop fucking talking to me like you know me.”

I feel a heat rise behind my eyes and suddenly my throat stings. “Oh, so now I can’t talk to you?” I make no attempts to take a step back. I’ve never been this close to him in all the years I’ve known who he was and I could feel the thrill burn through me, racing around my chest and shooting southward. The faint aroma of a scorching engine and the herbal sweetness of marijuana winds its way through my senses and I swallow hard, unable to deny the arousal I feel from everything so unfamiliar.

His darkened gaze meets my unwavering one. “You don’t have to put on some act just to feel better about yourself. Don’t assume we have anything to talk about.”

"Fine, we have nothing to talk about," I agree. I feel the pull of one of my eyebrows, challenging him to be the first to walk away. If he thinks he can scare me or yell at me, it proves just how little he knows of me.

He draws in a deep inhale, his chest expanding with his breath. “So why are you still standing here?” He murmurs. His eyes flit down to my mouth as I pinch the edge of his t-shirt and I capture his bottom lip in an easy, sweet kiss.

I savor the minty taste of it and the faint friction I feel against the coarse stubble on his chin. He manages a surprised, eager inhale through his nose as he leans closer. The edges of my teeth lightly drag across his bottom lip as I release it, slowly easing away from him. I know for a fact he’s done far more than kiss a number of girls all sorts of ways, but he looks stunned, as if he’s never kissed a girl quite like that.

I see his throat tighten and clench as he swallows nervously, his eyes seeking something in mine. “What’d you do that for?” He asks, his gaze falling to my mouth once more. He tips closer to me and his nose grazes my cheek.

My lips skate across his and then a secret smile edges them upward as I whisper, “I wanted to.”

A quiet, low groan that I almost don’t hear echoes in his throat. “You always get what you want?”

I nod, my breathy answer passing across my lips. “Yes.”

And then his hand reaches for my face and his mouth falls on mine once more. He grips the edge of my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin as my lips part over his. I kiss him harder and my hands trail a path around his middle, tightening on the solid frame of his torso. I feel it expand beneath my touch as he inhales a greedy breath.

He lifts his other hand to anchor my face to his. An airy whimper squeaks out of me and he drags one hand to the back of my head, digging his fingers there and I can feel them weave through my hair pulled tight at my ponytail.

My tongue traces the path of his lips and dips past them until he meets it with his own. His touch is all over me, sliding out of my hair, down my neck to my waist. He gropes me there, finds a way underneath my top and I feel his palm trail up my stomach.

No one’s ever made me crazed like this, not Blake, not anybody. Every time Josh exhales his hot breath on mine, every time his tongue beckons mine, every time his lips close around mine, I feel it between my legs. When I arch toward him, I can feel how wet I am already, my pulse racing, in my neck, in my chest, everywhere.

His hand continues, shoving its way underneath my top and he palms the curve of my breast impatiently. His fingers edge under the wire of my bra, pushing it up and I feel his thumb and his knuckle pinch my nipple, tugging roughly and then easing his thumb over it. He digs his fingertips into my sides and I moan into his mouth at the pressure of his hands.

Mine cover him, down to his hips my hands slide around and grab handfuls of his ass. I nudge him against me, my clit throbbing every time the rough fabric of his jeans rubs between my bare thighs. If we were anywhere else, I would let him have all of me, I know I would. And that desire to be fucked tugs at me until I realize what I’m doing and I begin to ease my grip on him.

The shrill tone of the last period bell blares across the campus and I jump in his arms. He pauses when I do, his hand softening, his breath heaving and ragged. Fuck.

"I…." I sigh. I peer down between our bodies. "Ohh… I have a boyfriend," I murmur, more to myself than to anyone else.

"Well." Josh exhales a soft laugh, his voice low. "I hope you’re not expecting me to say I’m sorry because I’m not."

My fist unclenches and I eventually take a step back. I run my hand over my ponytail and can tell it’s absolutely wrecked, just like the rest of me. The ribbon around it completely undone and dangling at my shoulder. I take down the whole thing, pulling the rubber band from my hair and shake it loose.

"That was wrong," I say.

He swipes his thumb beneath his bottom lip and then tastes it, looking at me with a satisfied smirk that’s so damn sexy I want to slap it off of him. “You kissed me.”

I huff a deep breath and yank my hair up in my fist, quickly working my elastic back around it. I pull it tight and drop my arms, stuffing my bow in my purse. “I didn’t think it would… be like that,” I reason. “I need to go.”

"Hey wait," he offers, taking a step toward me. I brace myself for him to yank me against him, but instead slides his thumb across my cheek, his brow furrowing as he studies my face intently.

"What?"

"Whatever was…" he begins, dabbing at my cheek harder. "Painted on your face is all fucked up now."

"Dammit," I curse, my fingers going instinctively to my face where I know I had a blue and white paw print painted for today’s game. I rifle through my purse for a tiny compact and flip it open to assess the damage in the mirror. There, a streak of blue paint that was once our mascot’s paw is smeared across my cheek, mostly likely from Josh’s hands. On the other cheek, the number seventeen that had been printed there, my boyfriend’s jersey number, was essentially gone, nothing but a cloud of white faded on my cheek. "Ugh." I snapped the compact shut. Between my face and my hair and my out-of-place bra, I was a fucking mess.

I glance back up at him and I’m caught for a moment in his gaze, smug and amused and adorable and I almost want to laugh. A smile graces my lips and I can taste him lingering on my tongue. “Are you happy?” I tease. “You ruined me.”

A laugh escapes him and a lopsided grin slants across his mouth. “Not yet, but I plan to.”


	2. The Tease

“Is this it?” I ask, leaning in to peer out the passenger side window. I glance up at the house situated on the darkened end of the street. A sinking feeling dips through me as I realize I haven’t been on this side of town in a while.

_He_  lives over here. Josh.

About a week ago, I had no idea what I was thinking and hooked up with him under the bleachers on the field and I never intend stoop that low again. So it was strange how I could sort of sense his presence just from being on this block.

“I guess,” Taylor murmurs, assessing the row of vehicles parked along the street. My friend had dragged me to this party as her reluctant wingwoman so she could meet up with some guy she met at a concert, a guy she wouldn’t be caught dead with in front of our friends.

"Let me at least get Grace to meet me over here," I plead, glancing down at my phone to check my messages. "So I can have someone to talk to while you're off fucking this guy in a spare room."

"Jen, the more people that know about this, the more likely my parents will find out and I'll be completely fucked," she insists. "So no one can know, alright?"

My shoulders lift and I raise my eyebrows to reassure her. "Alright. I swear."

"The people in there aren't complete degenerates," Taylor reasons, flipping down her visor to assess her dewy, olive-hued reflection in the mirror. "You'll survive."

We exit the car and wind our way around the house to the back. I can hear the heavy bass of the music thudding the walls inside. I have to wade through a crowd of people I don't know on the back deck and their glares of confusion and judgment are not lost on me. I'm hardly two steps inside before a long-haired guy with drumsticks in his back pocket finds Taylor and they disappear.

"Well damn," I mumble. I peer through the haze of smoke that fills the house and attempt to make my way to the kitchen. The house is small and wrecked and I can't tell if someone's parents actually live here, or if this is just some random house full of random people. To be honest, I don't recognize anyone I go to school with here, but then again, I didn't expect to. I wonder if they recognize me.

"Hey beautiful," someone calls out as I approach the kitchen sink. It's filled with watered down ice and bottles of Miller Lite. As I peer inside I hear the voice again. "You. Blondie."

I reach my hand in the ice for a beer and turn around to find the voice. Seated on top of the counter across the room is a guy I'd never seen before, wearing a faded Alice in Chains t-shirt and holey jeans. He swings his mop of dirty blond hair out of his eye as he acknowledges me. "Hey, don't I know you?"

A half smile slants across my face as I twist the cap off my beer. "I don't know, do you?"

"I'm pretty sure I need to know you," he offers.

I groan inwardly and wonder how long before Taylor's finished.

"And you can do better than that shitty beer," he adds. He flicks his head. "Come over here and let me get you a drink."

"I like shitty beer," I tell him, and lean back against the rim of the sink. I have no interest in getting closer.

"Nah, no no no," he rambles, beckoning me to him with his hand. "You look like a Jäger girl."

I can't help but scrunch my nose. "I look nothing like a Jäger girl."

He chuckles as he pulls a plastic cup from the tower beside him and unscrews one of the bottles from the collection on the countertop. "You will be. You just don't know," he manages. "You have the potential."

I raise my beer to my lips and let the cool swallow kill some time. "Oh is that so? Wow, what a dream."

"I know. Just do a shot with me," he insists.

"She doesn't want any of your goddamn cough syrup," cuts another male voice through the smoky, sickly-lit kitchen. My gaze darts to the doorway and lands on Josh, his leisurely approach just like the way he walks into class, easy and disinterested. "You sick fuck," he adds with the hint of a grin before touching the rim of his beer bottle to his lips.

"Hutch, your face is killin' my buzz, man," the other guy complains, his words muffled around the end of a cigarette as he slips it between his lips. He hops down from the countertop and shuffles off to the back deck.

I tell myself to look down, concentrate on the label of my drink, but I know I'm staring at Josh's bobbing Adam's apple as he pulls a long gulp from his beer. I let my eyes fall, assessing the plain maroon colored t-shirt. It's worn and tugged loose at the neck so it dips there, revealing a cruel hint of chest hair that makes me forget I'm supposed to swallow.

Josh nods at me. "Hey."

I clear my throat and eventually find my voice. "Well aren't you a hero."

Casually, he lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Hendricks is a dick."

"I picked up on that."

"Well I figured, you're a smart girl."

"I don't need saving though," I tell him.

His eyes meet mine for the first time, dark and heated and they send my heart tumbling into my gut. Slowly, he raises his bottle to his mouth, finishes off the contents and takes his time with a purposeful swallow. "Fair enough," he breathes as he moves toward the sink where I'm standing. He slides his empty bottle across the countertop and grabs another buried in the ice. "Enjoy your night, cheerleader" he murmurs, with some sort of finality to his tone as he twists off the cap and turns to walk away.

I press my lips together and fight an annoyed huff. I can't decide if I'm annoyed at him for using that nickname, or annoyed with myself for making him walk away just now. I feel like a dumbass alone in this kitchen, so I push myself off the ledge of the counter, abandoning my beer there, and make my way into the next room. The blare of a guitar slices through the speakers in the living room and pulses around the small crowd of people situated on mismatched furniture, passing a blunt, staring at a muted old kung fu movie on the television, the only source of light in the room.

I'm not interested in joining and I can't deny the pull I feel to trail Josh around the corner. I'm not sure where he's going. Maybe he's got someone waiting for him in one of these bedrooms. I follow him into the empty hallway and my voice hums through the faded music.

"I think by now you know my name," I announce to his back.

"I've told you I know your name," he says. I keep walking toward him when he adds over his shoulder, "I've never heard you say mine."

A smirk curves across my lips and I move closer, taking my time to appreciate his broad shoulders, the edge of his t-shirt sleeve carelessly cuffed above the curve of biceps. He doesn't move as I slink around him and eventually slip right in front of him. "Would you like to hear me say your name?"

His gaze latches onto mine and even in this darkened hallway, I can see the glow there as he brings his beer to his mouth. I want to tell him to  _make me_ say it but I don't have the courage. I had thought it. I had moaned his name in my head, imagined the way it would hiss out of me while my eyes were closed and I was all alone.

He swipes the moisture that lingers on his bottom lip with his tongue and his brows pull together in seriousness. "I'm not into teases."

I can't help but exhale a humorless laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about," I bait him, playfully averting my eyes upward.

"Yeah?" He breathes as he takes a step toward me. He closes the space between us and a pulse of desire swells in my core merely from his proximity.

"I wouldn't even know how to be a tease," I say and suddenly my back presses into the wall behind me and I feel my grin begin to fade.

He leans closer, his low voice is soft along my cheek when he murmurs, "Bullshit" and brushes his mouth across mine. He traps my bottom lip in a slow, burning kiss that melts my denial and fills me with a heat I can feel winding across my skin. I lean against him, needing more, my skin craving the feel of of the coarse unshaven stubble along his jaw, but he pulls away. He releases my bottom lip with a with a hot exhale and I glance up to see his thick eyelashes lift when he opens his eyes. It charms me to know that his eyes were closed a beat longer than mine were.

My voice is low and comes out in a hush. "See, now you're the tease."

The slightest flick of a smile tugs the corner of his lip upward and he averts his gaze down, along the slope of my shoulder. He lifts his hand that's holding his beer and lightly touches the rim of the bottle to my upper arm. Slowly, he trails it lower. "You don't like being teased, do you?" The bottle brushes the inner crook of my elbow.

I glance down to watch him drag the bottle to my chest where he draws an imaginary line along my shirt, down between my breasts to my navel. I inhale deeply and study the way he's mesmerized with this path he's making. "Sometimes I like it," I confess.

His eyes light up as they lift and find mine.

“And I think you’re lying,” I continue. I rest my head back against the wall and my neck arches just slightly until I see his gaze flit to the curve of my throat. “All guys like teases.”

He cuts his head side to side just once. “Not me.”

“I bet you’ve slept with a lot of girls at this party, haven’t you?”

Josh brings his beer bottle back to his lips and takes a time-killing sip. He lifts one shoulder in an indifferent shrug.

“And at our school?”

“What does it matter?”

“Do you still like any of those girls?” I wonder. “The ones who never teased you. The ones who gave you whatever you wanted. Do you think about them now?”

I see his throat clench with a hard swallow, the angle of his jaw tightens and it’s hypnotizing. “I don’t have a lot of thoughts,” he offers.

My eyes narrow. “I don’t believe that,” I tell him. “That’s what you want people to think about you.”

He eases away from me as someone passes by on their way to the bathroom. His face tilts down and he leans back into me until I feel the tip of his nose faintly trail a path at the side of my head.

I can’t help slight sigh that blows through me. “You’re quiet,” I note. “It’s the quiet ones who do all the thinking.”

“You don’t know me,” he mumbles into my hair.

I swallow and steel my nerves. Everything inside of me jumps and flickers when he’s this close to me. I pick my head up off the wall and my lips touch his ear. “I want to know you,” I say. “Tell me who you think about. Is it those girls?”

He shakes his head and raises one hand to the wall behind me. Finally, he lifts his gaze once more and meets mine. Fuck, the look he gives me is burning, it’s so goddamn dangerous.

“I didn’t think so,” I tell him. “You know the hot thing about a tease, don’t you?”

Josh nudges himself a step forward and I feel his hips press against mine. I hear the slightest groan echo in his chest. “Sure, a tease is hot,” he explains, “but usually, they’re not worth it.”

A smile gently skims my lips and I glance away, exhaling soft amusement. I can’t be baited like that with his attempts at getting me to convince him otherwise. “Oh yeah?” I murmur. “What does that mean, not worth it?” I drag my gaze back to his and shift slightly against the wall, pinned between it and him.

He’s not overwhelmingly big, or particularly tall, but something about the way he stands, the way he leans against me, he’s so perfectly solid. As much as I talk a good game like I know what I’m doing, I ache for him to own me with that body of his. Every plane, every delicious curve, those hands that made a mess of my hair the last time I was this close to him, could easily dominate me.

“Not worth the chase,” he answers.

“I see,” I breathe. I hadn’t touched him since he kissed me and finally, I peel my hands off the wall behind me and my fingers find the front of his t-shirt. They skate up the soft fabric and one index finger traces the low ridge of his neckline. “What about me, am I worth it?”

His hands were still occupied -- one on the wall above my head, and one holding his beer at my hip. But I could feel him. The bass of his voice vibrates inside my chest when he speaks, brief, concise, but each time the words escape him, they hum in my ear and that humming shoots straight between my legs. “I don’t know, are you?” He returns the question.

“Well you claim I’m a tease,” I begin, tracing that fingertip around his collar to the back of his neck. “And you’re not into teases. And I’m sure there are plenty of girls at this party who would never tease you,” I remind him. My fingers splay along his skin and drag into the hair at the back of his head. “Right?” My hips angle until I feel the top of my thigh rub the front of his jeans.

His only response is a muffled groan that he swallows and fights with a noisy inhale.

“They’re not gonna bother you with all their bullshit and their questions,” I continue. My hand squeezes gently, raking my fingertips through his dark hair. He’s dropped eye contact with me now, glancing downward. I think his eyes are closed, as if my mindless touches take him somewhere else. “They’d follow you into any one of these rooms and take off their clothes and let you fuck them, no questions asked. Yeah?”

He doesn’t answer me. Just hangs his head, lingering in front of me.

“I’m pretty sure, that’s true,” I answer myself. “So then why are you standing here with  _me_  right now?”

He eventually lifts his head, thick lashes frame uncertain eyes that lighten the more I look at them. Tricky hues of gold and green take me by surprise. That voice of his seeps into me as he moves closer, pressing me further against the wall as his lips near my ear. “I do think about you, is that what you want to hear?”

I turn my face and feel my mouth brush his cheek and can’t help but smile against his skin. “Mm, only if it’s the truth.”

“It’s the fucking truth, Jennifer.” His response is raspy against the sensitive pulse in my throat.

Fuck.  _Fuck_. I feel like moaning the word out loud. The control I think I have dissolves and the heat inside of me flares when I hear my name escape him. My head rolls back against the wall, desperately I swallow a gulp of air above his head.

“Now tell me you think about me,” he demands, dragging his mouth along the curve of my jawline until his lips coast across mine. He tastes them briefly, nips at my bottom lip and then his kiss falls on me again, murmuring “Hm?” into my mouth..

Oh my god, my mind won’t catch up to answer quickly enough. I get lost in him, in his breath, in his gravity, his kiss like pure fire consuming me. I'm suddenly pissed now that he's decided to do all the talking. I just want him to shut up and make me his with his mouth.

My hands slip down his face where I steady him as I tear my lips from his. "I do think about what a damn good kisser you are," I tell him, even though that's far too innocent considering the depraved truth. It's as much as I can confess right now.

He peers down and I look to match his eyeline. He trails the rim of his beer bottle once again along the path of my body. This time, over the curve of my hip and down my thigh. I watch the rim skate across the hem of my skirt where it meets my thigh.

He doesn't glance up when I offer that. Instead he ducks the tip of the bottle beneath the edge of my skirt and slowly circles it over my skin.

My lips part and I'm sort of frozen with fascination. I don't think I've ever seen him focus so intently aside from the few times I've observed him working on his bike.

"I do." A whisper escapes me. "I think about you.” I manage to admit the truth that he wanted, giving no more details than what he gave me.

His forehead creases as his gaze lifts and connects with mine. As soon as it does, I feel the sudden chill of frigid glass on my skin as he touches the lower half of the bottle to my inner thigh.

I flinch with an airy gasp, my mouth opening at the sensation. I reach down and grasp his wrist, finally allowing a smile to flick the edges of my shocked expression. “Shit,” I giggle.

Amusement tugs at his features as he looks down at the hold I have on his forearm but glances back up at me with a smirk. “What do you think about?” He shifts the bottle off my skin, but the smooth glass rim of it still remains there on my inner thigh. He drags it upward, under my skirt and I forget all about the cold shock when his head dips and the heat of his mouth sears my neck just above the collar of my shirt.

A breathy sigh floats out of me and I feel my eyes close. I loosen my grip on his wrist and drag my fingertips up his forearm, along the soft hair there. “I…” I manage and the rest of my words vanish when I feel the hard tip of the bottle draw a path at the summit between my legs along the outside of my underwear.

I mean to gasp, but I think it comes out like a whimper as my eyelids fly open.

His voice anchors me to this very spot and I feel my body stiffen. “Have you ever thought about me when you’re with that asshole you convince yourself is your boyfriend?” He asks in my ear.

“Oh my god,” I sigh. I blink up toward the ceiling and then quickly glance down the hallway to see if anyone is near us. That glass presses against me once more. Fuck, I feel myself tilt against it even though I swear it wasn’t on purpose. My teeth sink down onto my bottom lip as I nervously scan the darkened hallway and without a thought, I find myself edging my foot outward one step.

The pressure teases the twitching between my thighs and I can feel the arousal swelling there. That tension has been winding in the depths of my core since I first saw Josh in the kitchen not even twenty minutes ago.

His questions continue, words burning into my skin. “When he’s going down on you, do you think about me?” I feel his tongue flick softly just behind my earlobe and the noise that escapes me is louder than I intended. He drags the bottle along the edge of the fabric.. He does it again, nudging the elastic, but I know he’s waiting for me, for me to ask him -- or beg him -- not to stop.

One hand finds the strong curve of his shoulder where I squeeze with needy fingers. The other hand dips below the edge of my short skirt where it hesitates for merely a second before my desire to be touched right on the spot that aches the most for him overcomes that and I hook a finger into the edge of my panties, easing them aside.

I don’t know how he knows considering he can’t exactly see what he’s doing, maybe he feels my hand. But a groan rumbles in his chest the second that smooth, cold glass meets the heat I just revealed.

Another whimper squeaks out of me and I swallow hard, clenching my throat. Shit, what are we doing? I’m standing in a hallway at God knows whose house while this guy who is not my boyfriend, gets me wetter than I can remember being in a long time with a fucking beer bottle. His words and the way his mouth claims me and the way he smells, reminding me of that afternoon under the bleachers, all contributing to my complete absence of thought.

The rigid object grazes my slit and I hold my breath. I can feel it, smooth and growing slick with my excitement and I can’t help but bear down on it once more. “Or does he not care about getting you off?” Josh’s interrogation breaks my nerves and I finally exhale the breath I had been holding in. I duck my head against his shoulder and moan into his t-shirt.

“When’s the last time he got you off? Made you come so hard you thought you blacked out?”

Fuck. He was hardly doing anything with the bottle at this point but pinning himself against me. My hips grinding, I strategically press down until my clit rubs against the rim. He interrupts his questions long enough to nudge his nose under my lowered chin. There, he tilts my face upward and tastes the column of my throat. I wonder if he can feel my pulse on his tongue, my heart is pounding so fucking hard, it thunders in my ears.

I open my eyes and find the ceiling, attempt to blink into focus. Shit, by now somebody has to have seen us. How closely he’s pressed up against me, my skirt hung up on the rough fabric of his jeans, the noises and the sighs I can’t contain… we’ve got to look like we’re fucking. And I would never… I mean, I’ve never… like this. I mean…  _fuck!_

“Tell me,” he murmurs.

I want to reach down and slap the bottle away, grab his hand and push his fingers inside of me until I come. But my senses still haven’t quite caught up to what’s happening. I can’t make myself take over. I cough a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t…” I whisper, tilting my face as the tip of my nose slides down his cheek. “I don’t know.”

“What about when you’re alone?” The way his breath hits my skin, the sheer nearness of him seems to make a fog ghost between our faces, like steam. My clit is begging at this point. The sensation flicks a flame alive inside of me, but it’s not enough. “Do you make yourself come and think about what I could do to you?”

Oh god, I want to scream. I’ve never had someone talk to me like this. I can barely edge out my response. “What could you do to me?”

Josh’s mouth captures mine, his tongue tracing a teasing path. His kiss is scorching, it destroys me and I let out a needy groan and tilt into him, I don’t even give a fuck anymore. He lets my bottom lip slip from between his teeth and answers, “Everything he won’t.”

He stills and I open my eyes. I’m exhaling unsteady breath as my gaze searches his for some sort of explanation. Here and now, Blake doesn’t exist, stop bringing him up.

I shake my head in confusion and return my gaze to his mouth, achingly swollen and delicious. “Don’t talk about him, alright?” My lips hope to land on his once more, but he eases his head back and turns his face down. “Tell me what you would do to me,” I mumble when my mouth falls on the corner of his jaw instead.

He draws in a deep inhale and I feel his chest expand against mine. “You know…” he starts. His hand comes off the wall and he draws the tip of his thumb across the ridge of my cheek, then down along my wet bottom lip. I crave him so badly, I can feel the tip of my tongue gently nudge his skin as I peer up at him. “...The hot thing about a tease, right?”

I whimper, it’s desperate but I tilt myself into the pressure of the bottle he’s holding between my legs. He begins to ease it off, tracing a faint path down, and back up one more time. He draws it away and I feel the edge of my underwear slip back in place. I hear the music from the other room begin to seep back into my senses. I finally taste a gulp of fresh air.

_Fuck you, don’t throw my words back at me._

His hand withdraws from my skirt and I feel the fabric flutter back around my bare legs just as a familiar voice calls out somewhere around the corner.

“Jen!”

My gaze is fixed on Josh as he tips the beer bottle to his lips and takes one long, lingering swallow. I suck in a quick gasp as I watch him savor the chilled liquid that surely must taste just the slightest bit different as it passes over that rim.

Oh my god.

Finally, he lowers it and the groan that hums in his throat as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip nearly makes me sink to the floor.

His eyes flicker with satisfaction and he leaves me with a slanted smile that tilts across his lips. “See ya ‘round.”

“Jen! There you are.” Taylor’s fumbling in her purse for a piece of gum, too busy to notice the look on my face. I feel like I nearly stepped off a curb a split second before a bus came barreling around the corner. My pulse is thudding and I barely make out what she’s saying to me.

“Let’s get out of here now.” She latches onto my arm and murmurs into my ear. “This party is gross, I’m sorry.”

I swallow and will the throbbing between my legs to abate as I shift off the wall. “Oh.” I huff a deep breath and quickly scan the hallway and notice no signs of Josh. “Everything okay? Did you…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answers with a sated grin and I’m envious of her apparent relief. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go.”

She links her arm in mine and leads the way through the house and out the same door we came through. I keep my focus down and I’m quiet despite the frenzy stirred up inside of me.

But I poured the gasoline.

Josh struck the match. He’s holding it with burning fingertips and now one of us has to be the one to let it fall.


	3. The Chase

“You mean to tell me you slept through that entire quiz?” I hear Coach Spader’s voice at the back of the room as he drifts around the desks to collect our papers with obvious disinterest. “You know, I’ve had about enough of you, Hutcherson.”

I try to keep myself from stiffening, my desk three rows up and one over from Josh’s in the back, but I feel the muscles in my back tighten.

“Get up!” Mr. Spader’s voice swells a level. He’s the football coach and our health teacher, so I guess he thinks he can bark at us whenever he feels like it.

People are craning their necks, turning around in their desks now. I fight the temptation to turn and look and I angle myself to glance back at the pointless scene.

Josh lazily raises his head from his folded arms on top of his desk, exhales heavily and squints into the harsh fluorescent of the classroom.

Our teacher snatches the apparently untouched quiz. “Son, you tell me just how difficult is it answer ten questions,  _easy_  questions, on the food pyramid? I’m talkin’ easy. I’ve got a four year-old granddaughter who could have answered these questions and she’s in preschool--”

“Why would I waste my time taking a quiz a four year-old could do?” I hear Josh’s rasp behind me. I turn my head to see him stretching, pinching the bridge of his nose while he rubs his eyes.

“Son, you’re wasting my time, you’re wasting everybody’s time. Tell you what, why don’t you go waste your time with Mrs. Graham,” Coach Spader announces, referring to our vice principal.

Josh looks back at him without a response and I can see his jaw tighten and relax from all the way in my seat.

“I don’t tolerate sleeping in my class, Hutcherson, and there’s the door. You can’t keep up in here, get out.” Coach Spader dismisses him and makes his way back up to the front of the room.

Eventually, the thud of his boots smacks the floor as Josh pushes himself up out of his desk, noisily scraping the legs back. He jerks his leather jacket off the chair, carelessly flicking the blank quiz paper to the floor. I hear him begin to ascend my row and my chest tightens in surprise when his fingers discreetly graze my desk before he makes his way past me and out the door.

When I glance down, I notice he had pushed something underneath my notebook -- a scrap of paper. I lift my gaze back to the teacher, then ease the paper out enough to see that it simply says,  _Band room_.

I’m not kidding, I feel my pulse shoot straight between my legs when I read the words. Those words that he scribbled before he got up, knowing he was leaving and his first thought was to get me to leave with him. The heat around my heart flares and I swallow the urge to jump up and ask to go to the bathroom. I cross my legs tighter, squeezing my thighs and fidget in my seat.

 ** _Teachers, pardon the interruption,_** blares from the intercom system overhead. ** _Please excuse all varsity cheerleaders to the gym at this time for pep rally practice. All cheerleaders, report to the gym at this time._**

Dammit. Sliding my books into my arms, I push myself up from my desk, and so do Taylor and Grace and we make our way out of the room.

“Ugh, thank God, I hate that class,” Taylor announces. We head to our lockers and I’m barely listening to the conversation happening around me. All I can think about is who’s waiting for me. And the fact that the band room would be empty with everyone in the gym getting ready for the pep rally. My fingers tremble on the combination knob at my locker and finally, I’m able to yank it down.

If I go to that room, I know what’s going to happen. At least, I think I do. I haven’t touched Josh since the hallway of that party last weekend and I’m buzzing with the memory and the possibility of him.

“So is this party at Blake’s happening tonight or what?” Grace’s shiny pink lips appear in the mirror stuck to the inside of my locker.

“Uh.” My voice breaks. I clear my throat and reach for my duffle bag. “I don’t know. Probably.” I glance down the hallway and wonder how I’m going to break away, ditch the pep rally, and get myself to the band room.

We close our lockers and head toward the gym when I turn at the last minute and absently call out to my friends that I have to pick up something my mom dropped off in the main office. I don’t look back, I just duck into the stairwell and make my way to the fine arts hall.

When I approach the band room door, I see it's left open, but inside there's no light coming through the crack. A brief feeling of dread sinks through me that this is one big waste of time. I'm supposed to be in the gym, stretching and running through our routines. This is idiotic. I am an idiot.

But the craving I have for this boy is steering right now. I press my hand on the door and ease it open. Dragging my fingertip along the wood, I step inside and I’m greeted by the quiet jingle of chimes as I enter.

I see his silhouette, his form in shadow as he slowly moves down the row of percussion instruments. He flicks his fingers across the top of a drum. My eyes begin to focus in the darkened room and I start to make out his features, his eyes that blaze like a flame. His tread is measured, soft thuds of heavy rubber soles on carpet.

"How was your nap?" I wonder as I fold my arms over my chest.

Josh reaches up to scratch the back of his head as he steps down the riser. Mindlessly, he turns a couple music stands around, then plucks a pencil off one of them before sliding it behind his ear. "Cut short." He glances up at me and I can see the hint of a smirk dance across his lips.

When I feel his gaze on me, I attempt a steady breath and look off to the side to diffuse my nerves. "Spader is an asshole."

He descends another riser and comes closer and I feel the temperature climb beneath my cheeks. "So you going somewhere?" He nods to the strap of my gym bag resting on my shoulder.

"Well." I glance down and assess my cheer uniform. "There's the pep rally. I'm sort of in that." He looks down, angles his face as if to appraise what I’m wearing. "You want me to stay?" I wonder.

His gaze meets mine and he reaches out, slips his fingers beneath the strap of my bag and eases it off my shoulder. He sets it on the floor and glances back up at me. “You should stay.” Those lines crease his forehead when he looks at me from beneath his thick lashes and it kind of makes something ache inside me. His head gives a slight flick to one side and he turns to make his way toward the center of the room.

I watch him fade a little as he approaches a wooden piano. After a moment, a dim glow appears from the tiny desk lamp that sits on top of it and the darkness that surrounds him is replaced with warm golden light. He moves around the piano bench and takes a seat, pressing his hands down on the edge of it.

“So.” I swallow nervously. I don’t quite know what he’s getting at here. “Are you like... in the band?”

His back is facing me, but I can see him nod. “I play clarinet.”

I feel one eyebrow arch upward. “Seriously?”

He breathes a soft laugh. His shoulders straighten and he turns to glance back at me and  _fuck me_  that face will end me. A smile slants across his lips and somehow it unwinds the frazzled knot that’s been twisted in my throat.

“Shut up,” I exhale in amusement. I drop my arms and move closer to him.

He turns back around to face the piano as I approach him. “No,” he answers. “I’m not in the band.”

I make my way around the front of the bench, press my hands on the wood before lowering myself to sit beside him. “What about the piano?” I gesture with one finger to the keys in front of us. “Do you play?”

He answers with a shake of his head. “Do you?”

“No.” I peer down at my legs and wonder what we’re doing, why we’re having this awkward conversation. My gaze is fixed on the way the rough denim of his jeans is barely grazing my thigh as we sit together. “Can I tell you something?” I find myself wondering, but it’s like my voice just escapes without my permission.

“Sure.”

“The way you sit.” It’s still as if my brain hasn’t caught up to the words, these things I’ve thought but assumed I’d never be creepy enough to say out loud. “With one foot sort of propped on the other…”

Josh glances down to see what I’m talking about and instantly adjusts his feet, separating them and planting the soles of his boots on the floor. “Why’re you looking at my feet?” He’s fighting the most adorable smile, it makes that ache inside me start to float.

A quiet giggle jumps from my chest and I lean closer, my shoulder gently nudging his. “You do it in class too, and it’s cute--”

“Looking at me in class…” he murmurs with a shake of his head. There’s this accusatory tone to his voice, but it’s all breathy and a little spark shines in his dark eyes just before he glances over at me.

“I like looking at you.” My confession makes his gaze fall away, almost as if it embarrasses him. But I continue anyway. “Sometimes I wonder why… what it is I’m doing with you. Why I’m drawn to you. Nothing about it really makes sense.”

He’s quiet. I can see the features of his face shift as he concentrates, his cheekbones more prominent as his jaw angles a certain way with his thoughts.

All I can think about is wanting the heat of his mouth. "Especially how you make me feel," I add and it's almost a whisper.

“How do I make you feel?”

It takes nothing but a question and a look from him and I struggle to find my voice. “I think… I made that kind of obvious at the party last weekend.”

Josh ponders that answer, a haze of confusion darkening his features. "At the party you kind of bailed on me."

"Well. Not exactly.” I kill some time rising to my feet, then turn to face him, and prop my rear end against the edge of the piano. I was just there with a friend and when she was ready to go, I had to go."

"Ah." He nods and I feel his gaze climb my legs.

"Why, did you miss me or something?"

Finally his eyes meet mine and god, something about how slowly a smile inches across his lips is so fucking hot, it makes my legs weak. He nods again.  "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"You were on my mind," he says. "When I went home that night."

"Wow, I made it all the way home with you."

I watch him taste his own lips and his smile pulls at the corners there. "Did you have fun? With me?"

One of my eyebrows questions him. “Fun?” I exhale in amusement.

I’m met with another shrug. “Well what would you call it?”

I scoff because I don’t know the answer. I don’t even know how I expected him to describe that night, what he could say about it that wouldn’t make me feel stupid. “I don’t know. I just feel like ‘fun’ isn’t exactly the feeling I had when I left that night.”

“Alright.” He pushes the cuffed sleeve of his flannel shirt up his forearm as he spreads his hands. “I’m sorry I had fun with you.”

I fold my arms, realizing I need to go, but I can’t. I can’t will myself to pick up my feet and walk to the door. If I threaten to walk out the door right now, it’s only because I want him to chase me. And he’ll never chase me. I’m the one who followed him in here. I’ve always been the one to find him and god, I’m annoyed as hell as this dawns on me.

“Look, if you didn’t have fun,” he starts, “I really am sorry. We can just…” And then he swipes his hand as if he’s erasing something in the air and he doesn’t finish his sentence.

“We can just what?” I feel my eyebrow arch as I drop my arms and press my hands on the wood covering the piano keys.

“Stop.” He glances up.. “If that’s what you want.”

“Is that what you want? Did you want me to come here so that we could talk about stopping?”

With his elbows resting on his thighs, he raises his chin, meeting my gaze. Then he lets it fall down the length of my body with a shake of his head.

I lean down like I have to get in his way so that he’ll look at my face. “So then tell me why you wanted me to come here.”

Josh gets to his feet and it sort of surprises me. I inhale sharply, and shift back upright, but he follows and then his mouth is on mine like a sizzling iron he uses to brand me. His hands go to my face, then around the back of my head, then down to my hips.

I instantly ache for him. Shit, I can feel myself practically buzzing with this need I have for him to touch more of me.

His lips fall from mine, but he comes closer. Our foreheads graze, the tip of his nose skims my cheek and then I feel his mouth at my ear. “I wanted you to come here because I need to finish what we started last time.”

I open my eyes and all I see is his neck and the worn collar of his shirt. I manage a nervous swallow. “Well. There are no beer bottles here.”

I feel him exhale and he mumbles something I don’t make out before he captures my bottom lip once more. He maneuvers a hand down between us and it floats up my inner thigh under my skirt. “Have you thought about it?” He breathes against me and I feel his hand skim the outside of my underwear.

Without a thought, I sigh louder than expected considering the touch was barely anything.  “Yes. Have you thought about it?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I tilt my head back and his mouth lands on my neck. The pinch of his teeth there flutters through me, throbbing lower. I feel it fucking everywhere. “Didn’t you tell me last weekend that you don’t have a lot of thoughts?”

He sort of chuckles into my neck and slides his hand against me once more. “Usually I don’t, but…” His fingers continue to stroke me outside the thin cotton and I gasp, reaching up to grip his biceps. His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater or something because I swear I can hear my blood rushing and my heart thumping in my ears. “Lately I’ve had a lot and they’re mostly about you,” echoes along my skin.

God, I’ve never wanted something --  _someone_  -- so bad. Like a pure, physiological craving that completely takes over, seeps inside of me and fills me like a fog so I think about exactly nothing. I just  _need_.

I exhale against his skin, squeeze my fingertips around the back of his neck and drag my words across his jaw. “I’m over your teasing, Josh, touch me,” I tell him.

“Shit,” he whispers. And then I feel his fingertips slip into the fabric of my panties and dip into me and my breath fills my chest until it feels like it’s about to burst.

I reach out, sling my arm around his neck and let my face fall into his shoulder. I was so turned on, any touch from him was about to make me fall apart. His finger sinks inside me again and the way he groans when he feels me... _fuck_.

With his free hand, he reaches down my thigh and hitches it up at his hip and my foot finds purchase on the piano bench behind him. He holds me there, one hand anchoring me to him, the other buried under my skirt.

It’s never like this. Usually I have to concentrate and shut my eyes tight and move just right before I get there. But right now, I can’t concentrate on anything. It feels like with every stroke, I’m on the edge and I have to actually reel myself back from coming right now because I can’t lose this feeling. This near-orgasm feeling where I’m so close and the waves of heat inside of me keep cresting needs to last forever. But I know it can’t and my whimpers float and bounce off the walls of this room.

A moan escapes me and I latch onto the back of Josh’s neck, pull myself into him and glance down between us. As soon as I do, he leans in and kisses me again, crushes my lips with his. His breath is shaky, coming in shallow, broken gasps as his mouth separates from mine, only to slant over it again and taste me and bite me and consume me. I would never guess that a boy who was so cool, so indifferent to everything would kiss me like it’s his only wish, like he would die without it.

His hand slides up the side of my body and drags into my hair, holding me there. I don’t realize when I start doing it, but my hips rock an easy, steady rhythm against his hand. He meets my motions, grabs me, straightens his arm and  _fuck_... I can’t turn back now.

That pulse that I could feel everywhere before, I feel precisely where he’s stroking me. And the friction the heel of his hand creates against my clit sends me unraveling. I squeeze the back of his shoulder, bite his lip while I try not to scream, but who the fuck knows? My hips are wild, selfish, I’m completely thrusting against his hand right now, I don’t even care, it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever felt. I’m gone.

_Gone, gone._

Oh fuck, where have I gone?

My fingers are sore when they finally release the soft material of his shirt. I'm almost afraid to lift my head from his shoulder, it'll all be too real. Too over.

"Shhhit." I hiss the word into his shirt before I manage to look up. My mouth tingles, my bottom lip feels so completely used, it throbs. "Oh my god, that was probably loud." The words muffled behind the palm of my hand that I raise to my mouth.

He slowly draws his fingers away, out of the edges of my underwear but they stay under my skirt. His hand skates around, along the curve of my ass then strokes my hip and squeezes it with this strangely affectionate reassurance. "Nah, you're fine. Everybody's in the gym anyway."

I gasp with the realization. "You're right." I let my foot drop back to the ground and hold my hand to my chest that's still rising and falling with my breath. I can feel my heart pound and I glance across the room to the door. "Damn, I have to go."

I can hardly move. I feel the fire in my cheeks. My insides feel like they’re melted. "I just um..." Holy shit my legs are shaking as I attempt to go for my duffle bag near the door. A loud exhale escapes me and I sound like a damn lunatic. I probably look like one too, because I can feel that my ponytail has made its way over to the side of my head. I just keep murmuring "I have to go" over and over as I straighten out my uniform and scoop up my bag.

I look back at Josh and see he's positioned himself where I was standing, propped up against the covered piano keys, his arms folded across his chest while he watches me.

"You alright?" He asks.

"I'm good!" It comes out more like a bird's chirp. I clear my throat and try again, this time letting my gaze settle on him. I annoy myself for being such a wreck while he looks so sane and hot as hell like that storm didn't just happen.  "I'm good."

He takes his time, drags his lips over one another and offers a slight nod. "Good."

"I have to go," I whisper.

"I know."

"You, um, you coming to the pep rally?"

He exhales a soft laugh and reaches up to scratch the faint stubble along his jaw. "Nah. No, I'm probably gonna take off."

"Oh." I glance down, watching as I scuff my white shoe across the carpet. Of course, like I've ever seen him at a pep rally. "Right, yeah." We kind of take turns exchanging awkward nods before I speak up again. "Well, I'll see ya. I have to..."

I've got my hand on the door knob when I hear his voice again. "Hey..."

I turn around to see he's leaning over to pick up the loose white ribbon that had been pulled from my hair and dropped on the carpet.

God. This is such a terrible attempt at a cool exit. I turn back and approach him once more. "Thanks," I mumble as I take the ribbon from his fingers.  When I look at him, I can see him shift his gaze up around my head. His eyes are sort of glittering with amusement before they connect with mine.

I attempt to gauge what's got him smiling and then I remember my hair. "Ugh." I huff and reach for my disheveled ponytail and pull off the rubber band before I shake it out. "Just... don't look at me."

"I like looking at you."

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stare at him for a moment -- at the crinkled brow and the faded freckles and -- No. I can't. "What is that? What are you doing?" I murmur. "Why are you being all nice?"

Casually, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug and slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans. He furrows his brow as he glances off to the side. "Nice," he whispers, then kind of pulls his head back and nods like he's trying out a new word.

I can feel my smirk as I take a step closer to him. "Are we being nice now?"

"Nah," he laughs softly as he peers down. "We probably shouldn't."

"Because I can be nice." I reach up and straighten the edge of his collar, folding it down where apparently I had flipped it up in the back earlier. Then my fingertips graze the back of his head where I smooth some of his hair.

"Ahh--" He sort of groans and smiles at the same time. I'm so amused at the things that embarrass him. He's too cool for almost anything, and now this causes a little pink to bloom across the hard angles of his cheeks. "It's probably a bad habit to start."

“Yeah.” A giggle flutters out of me and I idly sweep my fingers through his hair once more. "We've got a couple of those already."

His lashes lift and he peers at me from underneath them. The glow that flickers in his dark eyes is almost hypnotic. He’s silently daring me to quit right now, to say it needs to end, to tell him to stay away from me.

I adjust the bag on my shoulder, turn and make my way to the door, feeling the short hem of my skirt tickling my thighs with each step. Grasping the handle, I manage to make myself leave this time, and head toward the gym.

He can dare me to end the chase. But he promised he would ruin me. And I would willingly walk into that destruction, into that fire that I was just as guilty of starting, because I never knew it could feel this good to go down in flames.

 


	4. The Edge of Town

 

My lips tingle, burning and stung and used and it's a feeling I could never get enough of. He tastes like sweet mint and I love the way it lingers on my tongue, a swirl of chill and heat pulsing through me, even hours later when I'm all alone thinking about him.

I feel the slight sting around my mouth from the friction of his face as he pulls away. The crisp fall breeze hits my skin, finding us here under the bleachers of the football field during second period and I finally manage a gulp of fresh air.

"I have a test in World History next period," I murmur against his irresistible mouth. I have to say it out loud or I'll get lost in him forever.

He nips me with another kiss. "Fuck the test."

"No," I moan playfully. "I can't. I have to go to class."

"So you were only out here to kill time before your test." He ducks his hands beneath my sweater where they squeeze my waist and draw me closer. "I see."

Giggling, I twist myself away from him. "Oh my god, you have cold hands." I reach to my sides to grip his hands with my own.

"Do I?"

"It's okay, though."

"See, this is why we need to go get in your car." He winds his grip around my hips and I fall against him once more.

My fingers find the front of his hooded sweatshirt and I pinch the zipper at the center of his chest. "You're just full of ideas, aren't you?"

"When it comes to you? Yes."

I smile at him and tug him closer, slowly easing the zipper up and back down. "Shit, when did you get so cute?" 

"Stop," he whispers, his lashes lowering as he gazes down at me.

"What do you want to do with me in my car?"

"A few things that aren't at all cute."

I feign shock and tease him with a heated glare. "Joshua."

"Find a place or two to warm up my hands..."

I jerk the zipper all the way up and latch onto the sides of his face. "Oh, my god." I grit my teeth and murmur my words against his mouth.

He chuckles in surprise, coughing as the fabric closes around the solid width of his neck. "In my pockets." He reaches up to loosen the zipper a few inches. "I'd warm my hands up in my pockets, god. What'd you think?"

"No you wouldn't," I mumble across his lips.

"No I wouldn't." He lights me up with another kiss and I wonder how the hell any part of him could be cold right now.

"Well we should go..." And my lips trail a path across his neck to his ear. "...Get warm in my car later. Like tonight," I suggest.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. And maybe go get something to eat."

"Ohh." He eases away, nodding with realization, as he licks his lips. "Is that what you want? I should've known you were after one specific thing."

"Mm, I have a one-track mind and it leads directly to pizza." I feel the grin stretch my cheeks as I tighten my arms around his shoulders.

"God, is that all you can think about?"

I giggle and tilt myself into him, my hip pressed against the front of his jeans and the way he tugs me closer feels so damn good. I don't know what I was thinking when I said I had to go. "Come on," I tell him. "Tonight? Wanna go fool around in my car and then get some pizza?"

"That sounds terrible," he mutters as he dives for my neck.

"Please?" I laugh, teetering off my balance as he leans against me. "Do I have to beg you to take me out?"

He steadies me, a smirk slanting across his lips. "Nah. I'm game. Let's do it."

"Alright, where should we go? Should I pick you up?"

His brow furrows with my suggestion. "No. No, let's uh..." And I don't miss the way he lets me go, scratches the back of his head and inches a step back while he thinks. "Why don't we just meet over at Gino's. Get something to eat there?"

"Alright." My gaze falls to assess his shift in body language but I quickly dismiss the curiosity. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He makes his way back to me and it's like he tries to pick up where he left me a minute ago, his arms snaking around me once more. "Yes. Yeah. How's like... eight?"

A smile surfaces on my lips. "Okay. I like that plan." I slide my hands up his chest and around to the back of his neck. There, I reach for the soft hood at the back of his sweatshirt, then gently pull it up over his head. "I really do have a test, though."

He peers out at me from underneath those damn eyelashes, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "I know."

I hold onto the edge of the hood and lean in to kiss him. It's like the fabric there provides our own little shelter and I pretend we're hidden away from everything, if only for a minute. The cruel reminder of third period pings across the campus and I hear the bell from the building up the hill. I ease away, letting go, and slide my still-pulsing bottom lip beneath my teeth. "Then I'll see you tonight."

He drops his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt and looks back at me, adorable as hell with that hood still on his head. Dammit. "See ya."

I manage a few steps back before I bend down and maneuver my way between the railings of the bleachers and quickly head up the grassy hill.

***

A ring of water pools around the glass of sweet tea that sits in front of me and I swirl my straw around the amber liquid. Sighing, I scoot back in my booth seat, and peer around the restaurant, hoping nobody I know sees me sitting alone. I should have waited in my car. I would check my phone, but Josh and I don't even have each others' numbers. I've never thought about that until just now.

This was stupid of me. I messed up what we had trying to complicate things, attempting to change our existing pattern.

It's funny, all I'd hoped for was to see him. I was excited to just sit with him and talk to him. I didn't even change my outfit a hundred times or spend an hour doing my make-up before I left my house tonight, which is normally what I did before I'd go out with my boyfriend. After school I had cheer practice, then went home and showered and threw on the same clothes I wore to school, let my hair air dry, fixed my make up and killed time with some homework before I got in my car. It was the most relaxed I'd been in a long time, preparing to meet up with a guy, because I was just happy to hang out with him. But now here I sit, alone and a dumbass for thinking this guy was just as interested.

Of course he wasn't going to make an effort to come to me. He was interested when I tracked him down and let him have me, but that was it. Fuck, I said I wouldn't put myself in this position and here I am. As it creeps past eight-thirty my excuses for him wane. I assume he's not the most punctual person in general, so I forgive the first twenty minutes I have to sit here by myself. But as the minutes pass, more doubt creeps in, each minute a reminder that I'm a used afterthought, convenient and easy. Not even a challenge to him. Here I thought I was so cute, tempting him, getting him hot but not quite getting him off, hoping to bait him until the next time. Well I'm fucking done. Seriously.

And there's no way I can sit in here an hour enduring the smell of pizza and survive only on sweet tea. I leave a five dollar bill on the table, grab my purse and slide out of the booth. I rake my fingers through my hair and try to make an inconspicuous exit. Out in the parking lot, my gaze sweeps across the cars one more time, in search of his motorcycle. I hope maybe he's waiting outside. But there's no sign of him.

When I drop down into the driver's seat of my car, I stare at my steering wheel a moment. No. Hell no. I don't get stood up. What the hell is he thinking? I don't know who these other girls are that he knows who just let him do whatever he wants, but I won't be one of them.

I lift my gaze to my rearview mirror, meeting my own reflection, study the way the blue heat flares in my eyes, and turn my key in the ignition. I may not know his number, but I know where that boy lives.

**

My tires roll to a stop on Hudson Avenue and I glance out the window at Josh's house. I shift my car into park and press my lips together as I attempt to gauge what's inside. The lights are on. And there's his motorcycle parked on the driveway. Fucker.

I glance around at the darkened neighborhood before I push open my door and climb out. I feel the evening fall chill blow through my hair as I make my way up the path to his little house. I keep pushing away the voice that tells me to turn around. I shouldn't be here. It's borderline crazy to show up at a guy's house like this. But clearly that doesn't stop me.

Before I knock, I take a moment to listen outside the door. I don't know what for. But I was curious what goes on inside his house, what his parents are like, hell if he's in there with some other girl. I hear noises from a TV, a couple sets of footsteps. Seems normal enough.

I reach for the tattered screen door, rickety on its hinges, and pull it open before my knuckles land a few times on his front door. A few beats pass and I fold my arms across my chest while I wait, rocking back and forth on my feet.

Soon enough, the knob turns and slowly the door creaks open. I peer inside, but don't see anyone looking back at me until the door eventually swings back and my gaze lowers as I'm greeted by a tiny dark-haired girl. She's decked out in red cowboy boots and an oversized t-shirt as a nightgown.

"It's a girl!" She yells.

"Em, I said don't answer the door! Don't ever open the door, okay?" Josh's voice floats from somewhere inside and then he hurries to her side and scoops her up.

I open my mouth to say something but the words are caught as I witness probably the last thing I expected to see -- Josh standing in his entryway, dressed only in a pair of worn jeans, his chest and feet bare, with a little girl thrown over his shoulder.

"It's a girl, it's a girl!" She cackles, kicking her feet wildly near his head.

"What are you doing?" He asks me.

"I--"

"Josh! The bubbles are spilling!" Another voice shouts from further back in the house. "The bubbles are spilling!" This one belongs to a little boy who comes barreling around the corner wearing what appears to be Josh's motorcycle helmet. "AHHHHH!!!"

"Alright!" Josh calls, turning back into the house. "Don't touch it, Zach." He sets the little girl down and regards me quickly. "Uh, just... come in."

"Um." I hesitate at the threshhold but figure Josh isn't really in a place to explain anything to me right now. So I step inside and close the door behind me. "Do you need some help?"

I follow the commotion through the house where I can hear the girl's screeching laughter until I reach their kitchen. There I see Josh pulling a pot that's boiling over with macaroni off the stove. I'm still at a loss for words. This looks like a scene out of a sitcom.

"Is it ready?" The little boy wonders hopefully. "Mac and cheese! Mac and cheese!" He chants.

"Josh, that girl is here!" The younger one says before she runs over to me. "What's your name?"

"I'm, uh..." I laugh softly and bend down to meet her eye level. "I'm Jennifer."

"I'm Emma."

"Hi Emma."

"These are my boots!" She declares, kicking one of her feet in the air to show me.

"I love them!"

"Zach, the mac and cheese might be hopeless tonight," I hear Josh lament as he wipes down the counter.

I walk over to him and peer inside the pot now that the boiling water has settled. "No, you can save it," I tell him. "It's good. Here." I turn and grab the silver strainer that hangs on their kitchen wall and set it in the sink. I lift up the pot and dump the contents until the water drains and the macaroni noodles are left in the colander. I glance inside the pot to see a few burnt noodles stuck inside. "Just a few that didn't make it, but whatever, there's plenty here."

"Okay. Good." Josh nods at the sink, then looks up at me, seeming to finally acknowledge that I'm standing here in his kitchen. "Hi."

"Hi," I breathe.

"You're under arrest!" The boy shouts. He leaps until he lands right beside us, that helmet still on his head. He flips open the visor and peers up at Josh. "For burning dinner."

Josh reaches out and smacks the visor back down. "Take off my helmet. I already asked you three times."

"AHH!" He shouts and runs out of the kitchen, hollering in a fit of giggles to the back of the house.

I exhale a quiet laugh and glance over at Josh once more. "Brother and sister?"

"Yeah. Look, I know I was supposed to meet you." Josh trails off. He returns to the sink, reaches for the strainer and shakes the contents into an oversized bowl.

"No, it's-- obviously you've got a lot going on over here."

"Josh pleeee-ease!" Emma groans up at us. "I'm hungry."

I bump my shoulder against Josh's. "Hey, let me help."

Josh points to the fridge. "The uh... butter. And milk."

I open the fridge and notice in my search for the butter that there's hardly anything else decent inside. A ton of condiments clutter the inside of the door, milk sits on the shelf, along with a ripped open case of Coors Light, and a pack of wrapped cheese slices. I let my gaze fall down the sparse shelves before I gently close the door and return to the counter with the two required ingredients.

We quickly work to get the mac and cheese mixed and spooned into a couple of bowls before we pass them off to Emma and her brother Zach.

They take them and with pounding feet, run noisily into the living room. Soon the music from some sort of superhero cartoon blares to life in the distance, blending with their giggles.

"So..." I lean against the kitchen counter and watch Josh drop the pot with the burnt noodles into the sink with a clatter. "They're up kinda late, aren't they?"

His eyes cut over to me, something darker sweeping over his features. "They're fine."

"No, I don't--" I swallow nervously and glance down at the kitchen floor. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything."

"They were headed to bed earlier and Zach was hungry and it just... sort of went from there," he explains.

I nod and offer him a smile. "You on dinner and bedtime duty tonight?"

Josh screws the cap back on the milk and replaces it with the butter in the refrigerator. I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice the way the taut muscles in his back flex as he reaches inside. "Looks that way," he sighs.

"Where are your parents?"

The refrigerator door closes and he goes to the sink, dumping in a few more dishes before flipping on the water. "Out."

I nod once more and uncomfortably glance around his kitchen. The small table in the corner is cluttered with stacks of unopened mail, a full ashtray and a couple empty beer cans alongside a well-worn babydoll and some sort of attempt at a rocket made out of popsicle sticks. I clear my throat and drag my gaze back to him. "Well hey, I'm sorry I just showed up here. I know I wasn't exactly invited."

"No, you weren't."

I feel the sting of his words, the bite of his tone in the base of my throat. I fidget with my hair and drift a step back. "I'll go then," I murmur.

His gaze fixed on scrubbing a dish, he lets my words linger awkwardly in the air. Finally, when I start to feel the tears heat the corner of my eye, I swallow hard and turn out of the kitchen.

"Jennifer." He shuts off the running water and I stop, hanging back in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway. "I'm sorry. Alright?" I hear from behind me.

Slowly I glance over my shoulder. He's standing at the counter, his back to me, pressing his hands on the rim of the sink.

"Don't be sorry, I barged into your house," I manage. My voice cracks a little.

"No, I'm sorry I told you I'd meet up with you tonight when I knew I couldn't." He turns around and props his backside on the edge of the counter, folding his arms across his chest.

I shrug and have a hard time letting my gaze settle on him. The way his waist narrows to the jeans that sit low on his hips is distracting. I glance up, noticing his broad shoulders and the whole image before me is not fit for macaroni and cheese and dirty dishes and little kids and ugh, god, I don't know where to look. "You could have just said so," I tell him. "I'm sorry I came over here. I--" And I realize how awful I am and what a brat it makes me that I've been pouting over this. "I thought you just forgot about me, or stood me up on purpose just to... I don't know, mess with me. I was all ready to come over here and yell at you."

A slanted smile surfaces on his face and he exhales a soft laugh. "You can yell at me, I probably deserve it."

My stomach sinks a little when he smiles like that. "No," I sigh. "Hey, you want some help with those dishes?"

"No, I uh..." He reaches for a dish towel and quickly dries his hands. "I should really get them in bed. I'll get to the dishes later."

"Okay."

"But, hey. Um--" He steps closer to me, presses his lips together as he slides his hands into his pockets. When he does, his shoulders raise, the defined curve of his triceps arches and flexes, drawing my gaze down the length of his arm. Dammit. "Stay. They'll be down for the night pretty soon. And... we can hang out if you want."

I regard him with a narrowed glare and a tilt of my head. "You sure?"

"Yeah," he laughs.

"Okay." I watch as he exits the kitchen. He makes an announcement in the living room that whatever movie they're watching is going off and is met with groans and attempts at convincing him otherwise. I smile to myself and turn back toward the sink, figuring I might as well help if I've got some time to kill while Josh gathers his siblings for bed and herds them down the hall. I glance down in search of their dishwasher but don't see one in the cramped kitchen, their counterspace and cabinets minimal. So I seek out the sponge inside the sink, flip on the water and start scrubbing.

I wash my way through the majority of the plates, glasses, and pots in the sink and set them on the rack to dry. I take a moment to assess the kitchen, find a few stray utensils, then head into the now empty living room to gather the little plastic bowls and forks printed with faded Batman and Spiderman that once held tonight's mac and cheese and take them back to the sink.

I wonder what's going on in that back bedroom. What I wouldn't give to see Josh tucking these little kids into bed, getting Emma out of those cowboy boots. I think about him reading them a story, or better yet, making one up on the spot when his sister demands it. It's a visual I never in a million years thought I would have of him. The thought makes me laugh but it also makes this warmth swell around my heart. Damn, he wasn't supposed to be this cute.

I'm finishing the last few glasses when Josh joins me in the kitchen. To my slight disappointment, he's put on a faded t-shirt, but there's no denying he still looks sexy as hell.

"Why are you doing that?" He asks.

I look up at him as I'm rinsing. "What? The dishes?"

"Yeah. Don't."

I laugh softly and glance back down at the sink. "I don't mind."

"I don't... care if you mind. I don't want you in my kitchen doing my dishes."

The way he says it halts my movements and I lift my gaze to him once more. "Okay. I--" I furrow my brow and can feel the confusion show itself on my face.

"I mean--" He cuts in, raking his fingers back through his hair and he pauses to scratch the back of his head. "What are you doing here? Why are you--" He swallows hard and nervously rubs his fingers over his chin. "It's not like you're my girlfriend."

"Whoa." I feel my eyes widen and I immediately turn off the faucet, snatching a dish towel off the counter. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm washing your dishes because I'm trying to be your girlfriend? Because that's what girlfriends do?"

"I just... don't need you to do that, that's all."

"Josh, you wanted me to stay and hang out with you," I say, doing my best to keep my voice low. "I was just making myself useful. And you know, being a decent person, not your girlfriend, okay? But yeah, thank you for making it clear what I'm not."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Well. It's pretty obvious that me being here bothers you." I toss the dish towel back on the counter. "I'm going. I'm sorry I ever tried to come find you." I let the words hang there and brush past him as I leave the kitchen.

I stop halfway to the front door and turn back in the hallway to find Josh just standing there at the threshold. "And I know you're not going to bother saying anything. Whatever," I continue, my voice barely louder than a whisper. I make my way back a few steps closer to him. "But I understand what I am and what I'm not to you. I'm not stupid."

"I never said--"

"And I liked you. Alright? And I guess I... ruined the game, or whatever the hell we were doing, by admitting that. But I did. You're--" I swallow nervously and lift my gaze to him, inspecting his rigid features that soften at those freckles across his nose and his dark lashes. I should have stopped talking and just kept walking to the door. But I thought maybe this is the last time I'll ever talk to him. "You're... a thinker and you're funny when you want to be. And you're interesting, and..." I lift my arm and gesture to the other end of the house before I let my hand drop where it smacks my thigh. "And I didn't know you take care of a little brother and sister, and..." I push my hair back off my face and dammit, I seriously feel like I'm going to cry. "Fuck," I whisper and glance away at his front door. "So I'm sorry. But nothing more can happen between us. You and me. And whatever we were doing? It's done."

The angle of his jaw flares as he looks back at me for a silent moment. "Fine." His voice barely edges out of him.

I press my lips together and manage a few steps backward. "Fine." I echo him in a whisper as I reach in my back pocket for my keys. I turn for the door, make my way out, and ease it closed behind me. It takes all my willpower not to slam it.

I stalk across his front yard and smack the chainlink gate closed once I pass through it. I really didn't want to be a crazy, angry girl peeling out on his street. I bet I'm not the first. He has this infuriating way about him. But oh well. I slam myself inside my car, turn the key in the ignition, then grip the steering wheel and pause for a calming breath. The hope that still pounds inside my chest, even though I constantly battled it back, tugs at me that Josh would come out that door and stop me from leaving.

One.

Two.

Three...

But he doesn't. So I shift my car into gear, ease my foot on the gas pedal, and drive away, clenching my teeth so hard because I'll be damned if I'm going to cry over a boy who'd let me walk away like that.


	5. French Homework

Apparently, nothing tunes my focus quite like rejection. On Sunday, I ran so fucking long and didn't even realize it, beating my best average mile time and it's like I couldn't even feel it. I was up hours before school started this morning, my running shoes pounding the streets of my neighborhood all over again. It's the only thing that cleared my head. And it wasn't even Josh who was lingering there. When I stormed out of his house last week, I didn't think I'd ever felt so unwanted... until the weekend.

I had been so determined to forget about him, to move on, to prove to myself his world is not where I belonged. I belonged with Blake, my crowd, Grace's party. Her parents away on a cruise, her vodka ice cold, I wanted to remember who I was by forgetting everything. I downed shots like a champ, I wore ridiculously impractical lingerie under my skirt. By the end of the night, I wanted Blake to be all I felt.

Things were getting a little blurry, but I'm pretty sure Grace had similar intentions because she kept showing up at my boyfriend's side, offering to mix his drinks, her hostess-with-the-mostest routine in full effect as she brought out her dad's cigars. By the time I got Blake back in an empty spare room, he all but passed out, face-first on top of the covers, breath reeking of booze and tobacco. To be honest, I was glad I was wasted, or I know I would have gotten in my car and helplessly made my way over to Josh's one more time like the most pathetic girl in the world.

But I knew better and at that point, I just stalked out of Grace's house and walked home. She lived up the street from me. It was cold and my legs were bare, but I was fueled by the burn of alcohol. I snuck in through the side door and crawled into my bed upstairs, resigned to figuring it all out in the morning.

The memories still sting on Monday as I keep my head down for the majority of the day. After school, I channel myself into that zone during cheerleading practice where I think of nothing but my routines and the fierce determination for control I can feel pulsing in my muscles.

"Do you see Josh Hutcherson just standing over there?" Grace calls over to me while we're both in the air, side-by-side in a heel stretch stunt.

I tighten my grip on the outside of my foot and concentrate on my balancing leg. "What?" I furrow my brow and take a minute to realize she's talking to me. My gaze cuts over to the edge of the field, beyond the fence, and lands on a shiny blue motorcycle parked near one entrance.

"He's being such a creeper, oh my god," She murmurs with a giggle.

I focus and see the boy leaning up against the bike, the flannel shirt, the faded and worn denim jacket, and the careless dark hair. What the hell?

"One, two!" I hear the chanting below me but before I can center myself, I feel my leg wobble and I mumble a panicked " _Shit_ " as my standing leg gives and I fall off into the base of three girls below me.

They do their best to catch me, but they weren't ready and I tumble back onto the field on my ass. "Sorry. I'm sorry!" I call out.

"One more time!" My coach shouts.

With a huff I get to my feet and position myself to fly once again.

"Was that distracting?" Grace asks, flashing a grin my way while she props her foot on Taylor and Victoria's hands.

"Grace! What's the problem?" Coach calls out. "Do you need to take a lap and talk things out with yourself?"

"No ma'am." Grace stiffens and thankfully shuts her trap.

I exhale hard, determined to get back my focus, but he's there at the edge of my sight. Maybe I need to take a damn lap. I try not to look again. Black sunglasses perched on his fucking face. Who the hell is he kidding? I channel my anger into my concentration, stare straight ahead and command myself to balance as I'm boosted up once more. I catch my foot and stretch my leg over my head. I hold it, feeling the tension in my standing leg, finally exhale, and relax my shoulders. After a couple beats, I dip down and I'm thrown into a cradle dismount, just like I've done a thousand times, and this time, I actually land the right way.

After a quick wrap-up with our coach, practice eventually ends and I head to my duffle bag. I throw on a black fleece pullover, embroidered with my name and one little paw print and reach for my water bottle. Distracting myself with a long gulp, I tail a couple of the girls off the field. It's cold and all I'm wearing with this pullover are a pair of short blue cheer shorts so I attempt to book it to my car, but I'm compelled by this thud in my chest when I hear his voice.

"Jennifer."

I keep walking, my gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Jennifer." This time, he pushes himself off his perch and falls in step with me. "Hey."

Grace and Taylor turn to glance over their shoulders at me. I clear my throat and decide if I tell him to fuck off, it'll draw more attention. "Hey," I manage, but I keep walking.

Josh gets himself a few steps ahead of me and turns around until he's walking backwards in an attempt to get me to look at him. "Hey, will you talk to me?"

I glance up at Grace who has now turned to look at me from behind him and she makes this  _what the hell?_  face. I dismiss it with a shake of my head.  "Um, I've got to go."

"Jennifer, please."  His hand lands gently on my waist and he stops walking, halting my momentum and I nearly crash into him.

"Josh," I whisper. I swallow hard and I'm thankful he's wearing sunglasses right now because I can't handle his face. My gaze falls away as I try to find something else to look at.

"Just, please--"

"What do you need to talk to me about?"

He presses his lips together and takes a moment to look at me and I hear a shaky exhale escape him. "Can we go somewhere?"

"No."

"Look, I want to say I'm sorry." His hand is still on my waist and I feel myself lean further into him.

Fuck, he's got this gravity about him, this pull that I crave and I hate it. I exhale heavily and take a step back. "Okay, you've said it," I tell him. "We don't have any reason to talk. I'm gonna go."

"I'm sorry for... acting like a dick when you were at my house the other day."

A flash of panic rises up inside of me and I quickly glance around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching us.

"I'm not--" He starts and then reaches up to pull off his sunglasses before rubbing a hand over his face. He lets out a muffled groan, apparently in frustration and looks back over his shoulder before returning his gaze to me. It suddenly becomes a hundred times harder to deny him anything. "I'm not used to... to girls like you--"

"Girls like me..." I mumble softly.

"Yeah."

I exhale a soft laugh and cross my arms over my chest. "Well. Don't worry about getting used to a girl like me." I manage another step back and I turn toward my car.

"Jennifer, come on." He hops another couple steps to catch up to me. "Get on my bike. We'll go hang out," he offers. "I just want to talk to you."

"Ha!" I cough. I'm amused that he would even think that's something I'd consider. "I'm not getting on that thing." I dig in my duffle bag for my keys.

"Then meet me somewhere."

"Oh. My god!" My eyebrows arch with his insistence and I'm finally able to lock my gaze on his. "I told you this was done. I'm going home."

I watch his jaw ripple as he chews his piece of gum. I can smell the sweet peppermint from here and suddenly I crave the taste of him. Before I can give it another thought, I grasp my door handle and sink myself inside my car. As I turn the key in the ignition, I look up to see Josh turn on his heel, push his shades back on his face and run his fingers through his hair as he stalks off toward his motorcycle.

I allow myself a loud groan once inside the privacy of my car. Blowing out a hot rush of air, I shift my car into gear and make my way out of the parking lot. When I turn onto the main road, I glance up into the mirror and notice that blue bike in its reflection. Sighing again, I reach for the volume knob on my radio and turn it up.

When I turn the corner, the rumble of the motorcycle still trails me. "…the fuck..." I whisper as I look in my mirror once more. I see him, leather covered hands grip the handles, metallic silver helmet, his eyes covered, but it's him. Recognizing him from a distance has become a gut instinct for me.

I lower my foot on the gas pedal and pass a few cars. Is he seriously following me? "Fucking psycho ass, are you kidding me?" I murmur aloud as I lean forward to attempt to weave around traffic. He shadows my maneuvers, nimble and quick on his bike, he slices across lanes, darts around another car and winds up right behind me as I head over the bridge.

My heart pounds. Am I trying to lose him? Or do I hope that he's still there next time I look in my mirror?  I tighten my fists on the steering wheel and attempt a steady breath. At a red light, I close my eyes for a moment and listen to the dull noise of his throbbing engine behind me. I don't miss the way my hips tilt forward in my seat, seeking some sort of pressure between my thighs as I wait for the light to change.

When it does, I surge forward en route to the entrance to my neighborhood, passing the white brick sign and cascading fountain, the golf course, around the bend, and finally pull into my driveway. Now I'm shaking. I shove my gear shift into park, flick my key and hurry out of my car as Josh blows up the path and stops his bike right beside me.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I shout over the din of his engine.  "You have no right to follow me home! I could call the cops."

He climbs off his motorcycle and reaches up for his helmet, unclasping it before he pulls it off his head. "Is that right?" He chuckles like my rage amuses him.

"No! Nuh-uh. You're leaving." I snatch his helmet and reach up in an attempt to jam it back on his head, but he ducks away, swerving to one side and hastily grabs it back from me.

"Will you listen to me?" He commands and it's the loudest I've ever heard him.

"Since when do you have anything to say?"

He glares back at me and eventually sniffs a humorless laugh. "Did you seriously just try to shove this back on my head?" A hint of a smirk slants across his lips.

I feel the corner of my mouth twitch as my gaze flits to the helmet in his hand and back up at him. I sigh a deep breath, reach up to self-consciously smooth my ponytail before I drop my hands to my hips.  "Yes, because your head pisses me off, and you need to go."

"You want to know what I have to say?"

"Not really."

"You think I wanted to hear what you had to say the other night? That you  _liked_  me and thought I was interesting and all that bullshit?"

"Bullshit?"

"Yeah."

"God. You're a fucking..." I mutter under my breath, turning my face away in frustration. "Prick."

He makes his way closer. "See, that's what I thought."

I blink back my focus and turn to face him again. "No, I liked you, Josh! What have I done to make you believe that that's bullshit?  You're the one who made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with me."

Reaching over, he hangs his helmet on the handle grip of his bike, then steps closer, sliding a hand through his hair on the way. My chest seizes when he does, his idle approach making my breath hitch and trap itself in my ribcage. Another step. The sole of his boots scratches the pavement and he stops just as his chest brushes mine. This time I don't make a move backward. I just gaze up at him, try to control the rush of my pulse, and find myself aching for him so badly, it's torture.

"That's not true," he whispers. His breath hits my skin and what I wouldn't give to feel it between my legs.

He dips his head, leans in and touches his mouth to my throat and holy shit I've never felt that kind of heat sink through me. A shaky exhale escapes me, it practically vibrates.  "Josh."

"Are your parents home?" He murmurs just below my ear.

My eyes flutter shut and a noise barely edges out of my throat. "No," I sigh. "They're at work."

He hums a little note against my neck and then I feel his hand go to my hip. It slides over my shorts before he tugs me against him, bunching the cotton fabric there in his fist.

With no regard for the fact that we're outside, in the driveway where my neighbors could easily see this entire scene, I let out this throaty whimper into the air. The last time I heard myself make a noise like that, I was alone in my bedroom, my fingers buried inside myself while I bit my lip and imagined Josh doing it for me.

"Let’s go inside,” he says.

I turn quickly before I can think or argue, reach back to grip the edge of his jacket and pull him with me. My steps hurried, purposeful, lead us through the side door. "Come on."

I stop by the laundry room, adjusting to toe the back of my heel before I glance up at him. "You gotta take your shoes off."

He exhales softly, shaking his head as he leans down to unlace his boots. I'm impatient and start off through the house and eventually he hops in step right behind me. We cut through the kitchen and when I glance back, I see him dragging his gaze up and around the room, across the stools at the breakfast bar, our kitchen table, the oversized bay windows there that let in the evening setting sunlight.

"Come on."  I beckon him and tug on the hem of his shirt before I lead him up the stairs, down the hallway, and eventually into my bedroom.

"Your house is huge," he mutters. It's like he can't stop looking up, his gaze landing everywhere but me.

I turn and close my fists around the rough fabric of his jacket. "Fuck me already." My command is breathless and I rush to shove the oppressive material off his shoulders.

He doesn't even hesitate or stall at my words. Flinging his jacket to the floor, he reaches back, slamming my door closed, before he grasps my face and his mouth crushes mine.

I moan into him, quickly working the short zipper of my sweatshirt before I tear my lips from his long enough to yank it over my head. My hurried, antsy hands go to his shirt and work the buttons along the flannel edge. As mad as I was at him the other night, the memory of him without a shirt has not faded and it's been the source of too many spaced out daydreams. I needed the real thing.

He races me, his movements just as urgent and he peels off my tank top. I help him, tearing off my sports bra and my skin tingles when the cool air hits it. But the heat of his mouth traps mine, sending a spark shooting through my center. I tug, he ducks out of both shirts. He tilts his head, nips at the side of my neck as our stumbling feet carry us back to my bed.

When he tastes my skin, he moans against the curve of my throat and the sound alone elicits whimpers of my own. How did I get here? I'm exactly the kind of girl I gave Josh a hard time about at the party not too long ago -- the kind of girl who would strip off her clothes and let him fuck her, no questions asked. I even begged for it,  _told_  him to. It's some kind of magic he has and I want it so bad.

I fall back on top of my comforter and he kneels over me. When I sit up to reach for his belt buckle, he smacks my hand away and hooks his fingers in my shorts, slipping both them and my underwear down the length of my legs. A surprised moan squeaks out of me and I drop back on the bed once more. Oh my god. My hands cover my face for a moment, I sweep stray hairs off my face, then rest my arms above my head.

Peering up at him, I can feel the fire in his gaze as it travels down my body, flames licking my skin before it eventually slides upward and connects with mine. I manage a heavy swallow and arch my back, about to reach for him again when the sound of velcro pops through the silence. He peels the straps at the back of each hand and slides the gloves off his fingers before tossing them to the carpet below. I'm about to slap him if he wastes any more time.

He tips forward, catching himself on his hands. I tilt my hips into him and just when I think his mouth is about to dive onto mine, he ducks his head and touches a kiss on the base of my throat. He sinks lower, lips burning across my chest. I ball my fists at my sides and my needy lower half arches forward once more. "Please," I whisper, my open mouth tipping up toward the ceiling. I tilt my face back toward him, lowering my chin and sit up just enough to look at the top of his head. "Do you get off on my begging? I want you to fuck me."

His head lifts from its descent, seriousness etched across his forehead as his dangerous glare makes my breath catch when it lands on me. "I heard you."

"So take your pants off."

"Trust me, I will," he murmurs, the tip of his nose sliding down my abdomen as his gaze falls again. "I have to taste you."

Some sort of shaky, noisy exhale escapes me, deflating my chest. "Oh."

"Alright?" One eyebrow juts upward when he flashes a glance at me. His mouth continues its trail, along the curve of my hip, opening enough to drag his teeth over the ridge there. I suck in a sudden gasp and lift up against him.

"Ahh..." I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut tight. Quickly, I push myself up into a sitting position, drawing my knees defensively to my chest.  "No, I don't-- I mean..."

He rises up, on his knees over me and his eyes darken with confusion.

Breathlessly, I attempt my explanation. "I don't come that way."

His lips part as his gaze averts for a second. "What do you mean?"

"I really want to get off," I tell him. "And I can't... that way. It's just... it's never been, you  know--" I've only had one guy go down on me and it was Blake and it was only a few times. Once I swear he was down there for almost an hour and nothing about it clicked for me and it was so fucking frustrating, all it did was stress me out.

"It's never been what?"

My palms smack the down comforter underneath me. "I've never gotten off that way."

Josh holds my gaze for a few beats and I see this heat catch in his hazel eyes before the corner of his mouth slowly begins to slant upward. He looks down, sliding a knuckle between my closed knees, easing them apart before he glances back up at me from underneath thick lashes. He doesn't say anything, but the look on his face is more than enough. Adjusting himself further down my bed, he pushes my legs out enough to duck his head between them.

Amused, I bite back a smile, watching him from where I sit. I help him a little, dropping a knee out to the side, propping myself up with my hands. When his tongue grazes me, I flinch, yelp a little and then slide my lip beneath my teeth.

He exhales with a groan, and then I feel a chaste kiss there, then his tongue again, slow, drawing a faint path that makes my hips twitch.  I whimper, he does it again, my knees slide open farther and I peer down at him, fascinated, my breath shaky. That touch that always seems so ticklish suddenly heats everything inside of me and with a throaty moan, my mouth tips open to the ceiling and I collapse back on my bed.

"Oh fuck."

I roll my hips toward his face and  _oh, my god_. The stroke of his tongue tortures me, it’s so intensely slow, I feel it ripple through me. He comes closer, I feel more of his mouth, his hand, his quiet muffled groans, I've never--  _holy shit_ , he has me completely lost. Someone could break into my house right now and I'd be like  _fuck_   _it, take everything, just don't take him_. Actually I wouldn't even notice. This place could crumble to the ground and I would be gripping his hair between my fingers, begging him to never stop.

He seems so still, so focused compared to my desperate whimpers, my back arching off the bed with a jerk. I tilt my head far back, reach out and fling a couple of my pillows to the floor while I blindly grasp for one above my head, close my fist around it and slap it against my face. There I moan into the soft cotton, mumbling, "OHmygodohmygodohmygod."

Oh my god.

His free hand pushes against my inner thigh, opening me wider. He buries his face further against me and I feel his tongue working a more eager, determined rhythm. I scream again, my noises falling into the pillow while I squeeze my hands around the back side of it.

I drag one heel up the center of his back, I can't stay still. His tongue nudges my clit and I shudder against him, throw the pillow behind me so I can finally fucking breathe. My hands seek purchase on something else over my head, find my headboard and push against it, attempting to anchor myself.

The pressure of his tongue pulses through me, I cry out and my hips tilt into him, then suck a deep breath through my teeth. Now it's like I can't move. The exact spot that his tongue has found... he concentrates right there and on top of what he's doing with his fingers, I'm going to...  _fuck_ , I'm going to shatter into a thousand pieces. I can't stop saying fuck. My head jerks back once more, the top of it pressing into the mattress as I hold his head exactly there, feel myself stiffen, and I swear I never stop coming.

It feels endless. I just unravel forever.

Finally I feel my muscles grow slack, tense fingers relax from his hair, my back comes down to meet the comforter again. A surprising jerk quakes through me, and another, eventually it makes me laugh and I feel him ease away between my twitching thighs.

Over the rush of my racing heartbeat in my ears, I hear a familiar thud and I hold my breath for a moment. After a few seconds, the sound of the door opening downstairs followed by the unmistakable click of my mother's heels in the entryway echoes up to my bedroom.

"Jennifer?" Her voice rings out.

I gasp and shoot up into a sitting position. Josh and I exchange looks, his sort of innocently amused, one eyebrow cocked while mine, I'm sure, just pure dumbfounded panic.

"Jennifer, whose motorcycle is that?" She asks from the base of the stairs.

I scramble off my bed, snatch my shorts up off the floor and slip into them. "Put your shirt on!" I whisper, dizzy as I've lost all sense of orientation, like the floor is the wall and I can barely hold myself up on my shaky legs. I find my fleece pullover and tug it over my head.

Josh pulls on his t-shirt, then slides his arms into his flannel shirt when he's hit with a random textbook. He coughs at it pelts him in the gut, then furrows his brow at the cover.

With the sound of her footsteps growing closer, I go to my desk and grab my laptop. "Sit down," I hiss as I sink to the carpet, straighten my legs out in front of me and lift the lid to my computer just as my door is pushed open.

"Here you are."

"Hi Mom," I chirp.

"What'cha doing?" She offers me a curious eyebrow raise and folds her arms across her chest. Her gaze cuts over to Josh, seated on the floor beside me propped up against the foot of my bed.

"We are working on a project. For--" And then I avert my eyes to glance at the book Josh has open on his lap. "French. A French project."

"I see."

"This is Josh."

"Hi Josh."

I watch him press his lips together and he nods. Oh, somebody kill me. "Hi," he says.

"Why aren't you two working at the dining room table? That seems like a better place to get work done."

"Yeah," I breathe. "I guess-- all my stuff was up here, I don't know. I was lazy."

My mom nods and keeps glancing over at Josh like she's debating exactly how hard she should try to keep him away from me. "It's a little cold for those shorts, isn't it?" Her forehead creases and she nods to my legs. She takes another step in and starts fooling with my dresser, closing an open drawer all the way and straightening a picture frame.

"Mom, I came straight from practice."

"Alright." She looks at me once more and her eyes fall away to take a sweeping assessment of the room. "Maybe some pants now that you're home and you have company."

I clear my throat. "Okay."

"So." A smile pulls at her cheeks. "I'm going to get started on dinner. Josh, have you eaten?"

"Uhh--" I see his mouth fall open and his voice hesitates.

Oh my god, I think my face is actually on fire. "Uh, Mom, he's not--"

"Because you're welcome to stay."

"No," he finally manages after a heavy swallow. "I'm gonna head home soon. Thank you."

She points over one shoulder toward the hallway. "That your motorcycle out there?"

"Um." His head bobs and a smile crests on his lips. "Yes ma'am."

God help me.

My mom nods in response, narrowing her gaze at him, a low, "Mm-hm" hums in her throat. "Alright. Jen, come down soon." She touches the door, ensuring it's open as far as it will go before she leaves the room and heads back down the hall.

I exhale a rush of hot air and lean my heavy head back against the bed. It falls to one side and Josh and I look at each other.

That fucking slanted smirk. "You better get some pants on," he tells me.

I dig my teeth into my lip and shake my head, slip my laptop off my legs and tug my knees all the way up until my forehead pounds them. I grumble there and the noise is muffled before finally raising my head for a cleansing breath.

"Yes  _ma'am_?" I arch one eyebrow.

Josh shrugs, tossing the French textbook aside. "I think your mom likes me."

"Get. Out." I can't get my smile to fade. "God."

He chuckles, rising to his feet, he crosses the room to pick up his riding gloves and his jacket.

“Hey, it’s a shame you’re not really into that.” He looks at me, then nods his head to the bed where we were just a few minutes ago. He slips his arms into his jacket as he makes his way a few steps closer. Straightening his collar, he leans in, his mouth passing my cheek on its way to my ear.  “But fuck, I hope I can still taste you for the rest of the night.”

My chest jumps with a gasp when his words buzz there and my eyes fall closed. Silently, I will him to stay that close, my whole body begs for it. But by the time I manage to open my eyes, he’s passing through the doorway to my room, letting himself out while I stand there and realize the exact moment he ruined me.


	6. The Princess

"You've had this look on your face all week, Jennifer." Taylor sits on her knees across from me in the abandoned hallway after school, a long white paper banner lies between us, a canvas that we're painting for Friday's game. "Give me details."

I'm on my knees, leaning over with my focus trained on outlining the letters with my oversized paintbrush. "What look on my face?"

"Something's going on."

I lift my head and study her gaze for a moment, attempting to determine what exactly she knows.

"Your eyes are fucking sparkling, Jen."

A sudden, breathy laugh escapes me and I glance down to concentrate on my trail of blue paint. "Shut up."

"What's going on with Blake?"

I swallow hard and take longer than I need to on the A I'm painting. "Nothing." I eventually look up at her and offer an innocent shrug. "What? Nothing's going on."

"Mm-kay. So then what's going on with you and Josh Hutcherson?"

I feel my breath stop with my paintbrush mid-stroke. I look to the end of the hallway and check to make sure no one else is around. "Where did you hear about him?"

"I didn't," she says softly. "But I'm your friend and not completely self-absorbed so I notice things."

"What have you noticed?" I attempt casually.

"Jen."

I look at her for a silent moment, nibbling my lower lip. We've kept this a secret this long, the minute I let it go, it could all be ruined.

"I won't tell anyone, I swear," she assures me.

I dip my brush into the blue paint once again and wonder how much time I can kill. I'm actually dying to tell her, and if I was going to tell anybody, it would be her.

"I can't describe it," I mumble, then sneak a glance back up at her.

A light catches in her dark eyes and I see her eyebrows jump with a flash of excitement. "What do you mean?"

I shift onto my hip, tucking my heels underneath me. "I--"

"Are y'all screwing or something?"

"No!" My eyes go wide and I feel the slightest relief that that's actually the truth.

Taylor's mouth curves into a sneaky little smile. "Honest?"

"Taylor!" I turn my head to cast a paranoid glance down the hall again.

"Sometimes when I go hang out with Luke, Josh is around," she tells me, referring to the guy she met up with at that party a few weeks ago. "Jen, he's hot as hell, you have to tell me, I'm dying."

I stroke my brush a few more times, leaving a new path of blue. "You're still hanging out with Luke?"

She beams and glances down at her own work. "Yes."

"That's exciting." I smile, but I can hear the twinge of sadness in my own voice. "Maybe you can give me some tips, then, on being a good girlfriend. Because I seem to be struggling with that."

She pauses a moment, then lowers her voice. "Are you cheating on Blake?"

It's the first time I've let those words sink in. I've never allowed myself to acknowledge that's what I've been doing. It feels real now that it's said out loud. "I never meant to."

"I promise I won't say anything. Okay?" She assures me. "Look, you can tell me."

"I'll probably end it," I manage. "With Josh, I mean."

"Do you like him?"

"It's not--" I take a moment to drag my teeth over my bottom lip and briefly shake my head. "There's no point. It's not going anywhere. We just... hook up some times."

"How much hooking up have you done?" That perfectly arched eyebrow jumps once more. "Forget Blake, I want to know the good stuff."

A soft giggle bubbles out of me.

"Tell me!" She pushes herself up and pounces over to my side of the banner, excitedly scooting in next to me. She brings her knees up to her chin like we're at a slumber party and hovers close to my face as if I'm going to spill all my secrets.

I laugh at her and try to fight the smile at my lips.

She reaches over and picks up her paintbrush. "So are you gonna have sex with him?" She wonders casually, dipping the tip in fresh blue paint which she turns and brings to my cheek. The paint is cold against my skin and I keep my focus on the banner, attempting to be still for her.

"No, I can't." It's like I have to remind myself.

"Sure you can," she reasons. She curls a stray hair off my face and behind my ear.

"God, I really want to, though."

"Oh really?" She murmurs as she traces the tip of the brush down in a slow line. "Tell me what you know."

My voice shrinks to a whisper. "I know he went down on me a few days ago and I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out--"

Taylor sucks in a quick gasp. "Girl..."

"Taylor, I've never--" I start, pausing for a deep breath because just the memory of it floods my whole body with an aching warmth. "--been like that before."

"Mm hm." Her response is an all-knowing hum. "Well you're fucked now, babe."

I exhale a pathetic whimper.

"I don't think you'll be ending it any time soon. Not when he can do that to you. You know what that's called?"

"What?"

"A keeper, that's what."

I laugh at her. "Stop." To be honest, it felt so good to talk to somebody. "You have to swear you won't tell anyone. Not even Grace."

"Oh hell no. I won't. And I would never tell her."

"What are you painting on my face by the way?"

She hums thoughtfully, murmuring as she concentrates. "Jen loves Josh."

I let a loud cackle escape me and I flick head away from her. "You are not."

"It's just a few little stars, spaz."

"I really do need to end it, though."

"Let me finish. These look cute." She steadies my face in her hand once again and leans closer to continue her work of art. "Why don't you just end it with Blake?"

I hesitate a moment and consider the possibility. Blake and I have been going out since sophomore year. We were just one of these in-tact fixtures, like we had an understanding. Together, everything was easier, decided for me. With him, I always had a date to the dance, I always had someone to make out with at a party. And then we started having sex last year and it was considerably less making out and more like this frustrating race to try to keep up while he got off. He got off like it was so easy, like it was nothing. 

But after a while, I just figured that was part of the deal. Like I said, together, everything was easier, so I played my part. I played my part because it meant getting to paint his number on my face on game days and glaring at the giddy underclassmen who whispered and gasped at his mere presence when he walked down the hall. 

But I've been them. I remember when he let me wear his jersey in tenth grade and I thought I was the coolest fucking bitch in this whole school. That jersey was my whole, tiny little world. It's hopeless to think my world will ever be that small again.

I exhale heavily. "Too much on the line, I guess," I tell her.

She sniffs a laugh. "What, like prom queen and his parents' cabin? Big fucking deal."

"I know, I know," I groan.

She dabs the paintbrush one last time on my cheek then eases away. "What's all that compared to coming so hard you nearly pass out?"

I can't stop it. I feel the smile curve up my cheeks before the giggle escapes me. "God! Okay, that conversation never leaves this hallway."

"Never." She turns and leans down to continue on the banner. "Speaking of... Friday after the game, why don't you come with me to a party at Luke's?"

I hesitate a moment. I will never forget what happened at the last party Taylor convinced me to go to and I can’t decide if I’m scared that it’ll happen again, or desperate for it." I don't know Luke."

"Well you should get to know him because he's a sweetheart and he's really hot and I like him a lot," she informs me. "And... I'm pretty sure you'll find a certain someone else there. If you're interested."

Pressing my lips together, I think about her invitation. Considering our most recent encounter, just the idea of him makes my pulse race, makes my hips tilt down like the memory of him there between my legs is going to get me off. "You know Friday we'll probably wind up at Blake’s cabin."

"We're playing South Point which means we're gonna win which means Blake will be a shitfaced idiot at the cabin, and let's be real. He's a useless asshole when he's like that. So... you ride home with me after the game, we change, we go to a different party. We make much better use of our time. Sound good?" 

___ 

I had packed a bag and rode over to Taylor's house, making a quick exit after the game. I jumped in the shower, scrubbed my face, and afterwards, sit myself in front of her full length mirror to re-do my make-up. 

We offer each other a few different looks once we start to play in her closet and I wind up in a pair of her jeans, which I swear are the tightest things I've ever worn. With those, I throw on a drapey, faded black t-shirt that almost looks like it could belong to Josh. I shake out my hair that had been pulled up high for my shower, slip on black ballet flats and we're out the door. 

"This time you have to promise to hang out with me," I insist when we pull up to the curb of the house. "Because last time, you disappeared as soon as we walked through the door. And I feel like Josh being here is kind of a long shot this time."

"Is that so?" Taylor muses as she flicks off her ignition. She nods her head to the grass at the side of the driveway. I direct my gaze to match hers and spy the familiar shiny motorcycle, its blue paint almost glowing in the darkness. "I'll still hang out with you if you want."

We make our way up the path to the house and my heart pounds in my head, it's ridiculous. Knowing he's here gives me tunnel vision. Taylor acknowledges a few people on our way in and I trail behind her into the dimly lit house. Its walls pound with the bass of the music blasting from the living room and once I'm inside, I can hardly hear anything else.

It isn't long before Luke finds Taylor and she greets him with a happy grin and an unabashed kiss right beside me. She breaks away to introduce him to me and dammit if they aren't adorable. I can't help but smile at the way he tucks her in beside him as he tells me it's nice to finally meet me. Of course, I have to tease Taylor with a pretend pout, moaning, "Aww!" as I wrap her up in an exaggerated hug. 

"Let's get something to drink, shall we?" She links her arm with mine and we turn into the hallway that leads to the back porch.

On my way, I glance into the living room, lit with one dim lamp and a string of blue Christmas lights and something sinks inside my ribcage. It's that feeling when you know something you want so bad is nearby. 

Taylor walks ahead of me and tugs my arm, but I halt my steps and let it fall at my side when I see Josh, clad in a simple and perfect white t-shirt, seated at a square card table off in the corner with a couple of other guys. He doesn't see me, focused instead on the deck of cards he's idly shuffling. His fingers loosely drop them into his palm as he glances down, nods and laughs at something.

He sits up and reaches for the plastic cup perched on the table. As he lifts it to his mouth, his gaze cuts across the room and finally lands on me. I probably should have attempted to look distracted, engaged in conversation with someone, but instead I just stand there, my breath shallow, I can't do anything else but stare at the way he looks at me.

His Adam's apple dips with a hard swallow, then he lowers the cup and I see his jaw clench when his teeth crunch down on an ice cube.

Fuck.

I'm hyper aware of every movement. I feel the tiniest corner of my lips pull upward, I feel my focus sharpen and the heat behind my eyes that's suddenly ignited.

Slowly he rises to his feet, drops the deck of cards on the table and starts toward me. I notice the guys he was sitting with eventually turn and look to see what made him get up. If people are watching, I don't care. I just want him closer, I want to feel him without question or hesitation. 

There's something different about the way he approaches. Usually he's got this listless pace about everything he does. But his steps are heavy, full of intent and briefly, I wonder if he's going to grab my face in his hands and dive for my mouth, but he stops just short of touching me.

His gaze is dark and heavy-lidded and I can tell by the hazy look on his face that he's been here a while. Closer, he lingers in front of me. I see his eyes shift as he glances down, a wordless assessment of me, then inhales a noisy breath through his nose.

My lips part and I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, I feel his hand in mine. He turns down the hallway, holding onto me and I fall in step behind him, through the darkness until we pass through another doorway.

The room we find is lit only with the slightest pink-hued glow from a nightlight plugged into the wall and I can see it's some sort of little kid's room. It's unoccupied and really, that's all I care about at this point when he turns and I feel him lean into me.

His mouth finds mine and I whimper into his whiskey-laced kiss. He's drunk, I can tell by the way he tastes, by the way he doesn't control the rush of his exhale. Needy hands grip my sides and tug me closer and a groan rumbles in his throat.

I wind my arms around his neck and press against him. He pushes back, manages a few steps closer until he can smack the door closed behind me. My lips slip from his and I lean back against the closed door, savoring the warm, spicy taste of him on my tongue.

He pauses a moment. Everything is amplified in the darkness -- the way his hands feel as they continue to stroke up and down my sides, over my hips, the sound of his palms against the fabric of my t-shirt, the soft breath that escapes him.

We haven't said a word and I don't really care. I could just listen to those throaty, hungry noises of his forever. My eyes focus, adjusting to the dark, and I reach out until my hand lands on his belt buckle. Pushing myself up off the door, I straighten up in front of him, work my fingers on the belt until the fabric slips loose and I hear the metal jingle as it comes undone.

Grasping the sides of his t-shirt, I push it up and he ducks to tug it off his head. He lets it fall to the floor and he's left with the two necklaces he's wearing that drop down his chest. I'm not even ashamed of the moan that echoes out of me as I reach for his face and lay my mouth on his again. My fingertips dig into his hair. My lips bruise his. I've never wanted anything so bad in my life.

He pulls me to him, we yank my shirt off, and before I meet his lips again, I turn back for the doorknob and quickly flick the lock.

"Jennifer," he breathes the first word.

"Yes."

"Do you realize," he starts, his words against my neck as we maneuver away from the door. "What kind of torture it is." His fingers tug at the button on my jeans until it snaps loose. "To know how you taste--"

A desperate whimper squeaks out of me and I tip my head back as his teeth graze the side of my neck.

His hand dips down the front of my pants, past the material underneath until his fingers discover the aching heat between my legs. He straightens his arm to overcome the tightness of my jeans, and pushes one finger inside of me. "To know what you feel like--"

"Shit!"

"And know I can never fuck you the way that I want?"

"Oh my god," I sigh, letting myself sink into his hand. "Yes, I know all about your fucking torture, Josh."

He sort of chuckles against my skin and eases away so he can look at me, his fingers still stroking, his other arm holding me around my lower back. "Oh yeah? I don't think you have any idea what I want to do to you."

"Ever since what we did the other day..." I tell him. My hips rock into his touch and I swear he's teasing me on purpose now, easing his fingers away and drawing a faint path around my clit. I groan and hold him closer to me. "Just thinking about you gets me so wet."

"Jesus," he hisses against my throat and thrusts his fingers back inside me.

"I think about it all the time," I whisper and I'm met with another one of his moans.

"Fuck." He slips his hand down further, pushing his palm against me. "You're so wet right now."

My lips fall off of his and with gripping fingertips, I squeeze his shoulders. I taste the pulse of my bottom lip, then slide it beneath my teeth while I manage a nervous swallow. Steadying myself, my breath shaky, I attempt to blink until my focus sharpens on the outline of his features right in front of my face in the dim pink glow.

I see his lashes flutter. I see the curvy outline of his parted mouth. When he dips his finger again, my legs nearly give from underneath me and I dig my grip into his arms once more.

"Josh."

"Mm?"

"I want you to fuck me the way that you want."

My breath traps itself inside of me for a moment. I've never said anything like that to someone. My head is swimming, if I don't exhale right now, I'm going to black out.

His mouth opens and I see the slight tug of one cheek, amusement twitching there. He eases his hand out of my underwear prompting a disappointed whimper from my throat. His hand skates around my hip, beneath the fabric of my undone jeans where he helps himself to a handful of my ass. "You are one dirty fucking princess."

I arch into him as he palms my flesh. "Shut up," I moan and can't help the soft smile that surfaces on my lips.

He lets out a groan just below my ear as we begin to stumble toward the bed. "Fine," he murmurs. "I love it though."

Something in my gut swoops down and around. I've never heard him say he loves anything and the sound of his voice when he says it... shit, hearing that did something to me.

With a sudden bravery in my fingertips, I reach for the button on his jeans and loosen them there. I feel the edge of the twin bed behind me and I sink down, falling onto my back. The soft mattress squeaks under me but I focus instead on the sound of Josh's belt jingling as he reaches for my pants. His hands too impatient to peel them down, he exhales, "Get these off."

I see him go for his back pocket before his pants start to slip down his ass. He retrieves his wallet and fishes out a condom. I catch myself watching him for a frozen moment, the reality of it settling inside of me. He dips the front of his boxer briefs down while he adjusts himself, we fumble a little bit in the darkness, panting, grasping, and I only slip one leg out of my jeans before he climbs on top of me.

An airy squeal startles me when we shift on the bed. "Shit," I whisper, reach under my back and realize I'm lying on top of some sort of stuffed unicorn.

Josh snatches it from my hand and flings it to the floor. He hitches my thigh up to his hip, and I'm momentarily lost in thought over whose bed this might be when I feel the pressure as he guides himself between my legs. My eyes flutter shut and I tip my head back, nervous and still. I tilt my hips and he exhales a needy groan, burying himself inside me and it’s met with a surprised cry that squeaks in my throat when he thrusts and fills me completely.

"Oh, shit!" I sigh as I arch my neck, gaze up at the ceiling, then promptly squeeze my eyes shut tight. Like if I do, it's happening in another world, with two other people. I slap my palms against my forehead and try to center this dizzying swirl that's happening behind my eyes.

Suddenly I feel his hand slip under mine, prying it from my face before he laces his fingers between my own. I open my eyes and immediately a heat swells inside of me when I look at his face hovering right above mine. His shaky breath edges out through parted wet lips. His hand squeezes mine and he shifts his eyes there for a moment, his movements slow, his thumb brushes my knuckle and he stares, oddly fascinated by it.

I tilt my head to follow his lingering gaze and the tip of my nose brushes his. I nudge it gently, craving the way he looks at me, and when his eyes meet mine once again in the shadows, god, I feel it everywhere. My lips capture his. My whimpers are desperate. But when I taste him, I can't get enough.

I tune out the music from the other room that pounds our walls and all I hear is Josh's rattled gravelly breath, the whispered swears he lets escape every now and then before he buries them in my mouth with another needy kiss. The long necklaces he still wears drape from his neck and lay on my chest and softly jingle with every thrust.

He squeezes my hand once more and lays it out at our side. Then his palm slides down my hip until he grasps my other leg up and urges it around his waist. I raise my knees, arch my back and rock my hips against his. He meets my rhythm in this way that makes a dull tension throb in my core and I tighten my legs around him, urging him closer, moving with him until that tension swells and curls around itself.

I grasp for his back, dig my fingertips there as I moan against his lips. When I do, he goes faster, driving himself deeper and I tear my kiss off of his and let my desperation echo up toward the ceiling. His clipped breath heats my skin as he drops his head to my shoulder and fucks me and oh god, I'm so fucked. I'm too far gone to care. I covet the feeling of his weight on top of me, he belongs to me. 

"Mm-- ahh god," he mutters against my neck before his teeth drag across my collarbone. My breaths match his, his hips pound me, and just as that throbbing ache inside me begins to spark from his intensity, he lets go of a growling cry. His back tenses, and he bucks against me just a few times, exhaling ragged, shaky breaths before he stills completely in between my legs. 

I ease my grip on his back and feel all of my stiff muscles slowly begin to go slack. His head still buried right there, some of his hair sticks to my lip, tickles the edge of my jaw as I hold him to me, panting, blinking the room into focus. I hold him to me, combing gentle fingers through his dark hair as my heart thuds in my ears. 

I don't know why, but it takes me a moment to realize it really is over.

That's it.

He moves and when he shifts off of me, the absence of his weight sends chills across my skin. I feel sick and I didn't even drink anything. 

Josh clears his throat, and I hear his belt clink and the rustling of his jeans as he slinks off the bed. There's an ache that starts in my inner thighs and winds its way through my center. Oh god, oh my god, why did I do that? I swallow a nervous lump that won't budge from my throat and hear the panic start to rise in the way I exhale. 

I look across the room and see him tug his jeans back over his ass while he makes his way to another door. There, he flips a light switch and takes just a minute in the little bathroom. I'm uncomfortable in my half-dressed state and I reach for my jeans to slip the one bare leg in before I lift them up and stand up off the bed. 

"Are you okay?" He wonders as he steps back out. 

My voice is soft when I answer. "Yeah." I sniffle, the heat in my throat climbing to my eyes until I feel a sting there that I'd give anything to make go away, but I can't. 

"Jennifer." 

I reach for my shirt and pull it on, flipping my hair out of the collar. "Yeah," I say, louder. "I'm fine." 

"Hey--" He steps in front of me to halt my fidgeting movements, steadying me with a hand on my waist. "Don’t leave." 

I stare at those necklaces, one a skinny silver chain and the other a black leather cord that tangle together against his skin. "I need to go." 

When his thumb circles the fabric over my hip I glance up at him, revealing the wetness that lines my eyes. 

"Hey," he repeats in a whisper. His face draws closer and he touches his forehead to my temple. After a quiet moment, he kisses me there, then at the outer corner of my eye. 

As his lips brush the tear that lingers there, I hiccup and sudden sob and manage a step back. "Just... let me go." Hastily, I swipe underneath my eye with my hand and make my way around him. I get the door open and the thumping music assaults my ears. The air in the house is thick with the sweet earthy smell of marijuana and I pause for a moment, something tugging my chest like I shouldn't leave. 

I grasp the frame of the door, tap my fingers there and glance back into the bedroom once more. There I see Josh bend down and scoop the abandoned unicorn off the floor before replacing it back on the bed before he retrieves his shirt. I exhale heavily and figure the easiest way to end this is just to go. So I attempt my best casual exit, walk through the halls in search of my ride, and convince myself that I'll never try to find my way back.


	7. The Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This is the next installment in the HS Joshifer series Under the Bleachers. It is AU. Enjoy!

"Where's Sporto?"

I hear the question from the other side of my open locker door and a sudden pressure sinks inside my stomach at the quiet sound of that voice.

Glancing down, I see a pair of legs in faded, worn jeans and beat up boots, propping up the owner of the voice against the lockers. Just the slightest sliver of him is visible through the opening at my locker hinges, his head leaning back against the blue metal.

He adds, "I figure he walks you to class or something."

"Wouldn't that be sweet," I murmur as I glance in the mirror and swipe a stray speck of mascara from under my eye.

"Carries your books."

A smirk crests across my lips. "Why are you so interested in where he is? You two have plans?"

I hear him exhale a soft laugh. "Yeah, we're gonna go workout together."

My teeth dig into my bottom lip, holding back a chuckle. "Shut up." I turn to pull my calculus text from my locker and notice a tightly folded square of notebook paper, probably one of Taylor's daily notes to me, resting on my row of books.

"Should I get used to hearing you say _shut up_? You say it a lot."

I peer out at him around the edge of my locker door and offer a smirk with a soft shake of my head. "What do you want, Josh?"

He coughs out a quick laugh and leans his head back against the lockers once more.

"No seriously, what do you want?" I turn and prop one hand on my hip, using the other hand to grip the edge of my locker door while I look at him. "And then I'll tell you right now whether or not I can help you with that, and then we can move forward--"

He inhales sharply and shifts his head, turning to look at me and his brow furrows. "Do you want ice cream?"

I pause and feel my eyebrows drop in confusion. "What?"

"I wanna get out of here. Let's go."

I blink a few times and manage a deep breath before I return to finish up at my locker. "What are you talking about? What, ice cream from the vending machine?" Quickly, I take the folded note that was resting on my books and ease it open to give it a glance before class.

He pushes himself off his perch and comes closer. He drapes his forearm over the top ledge of my locker door and hangs in the open space beside me. "Just come on."

My eyes dart back and forth over the words printed on the sheet of notebook paper and I grasp my locker door before swiftly slamming it shut beside Josh's head. I turn toward him, my gaze still fixed on the words, and I feel all of the heat inside of me begin to rise into my chest, up the back of my neck.

_Ask Blake who gave him a blowjob after the game on Friday._

_Hint: it wasn't you!_  
I finally manage to take a breath and look up at Josh who's obviously noticed the strange expression on my face.

"You okay?" He asks.

Exhaling a slow, purposeful breath, I will my eyes to soften and my jaw to unclench. Carefully, I fold the note back the way it was with precise creases, then slip it into my back pocket. "Yes. Where are you taking me?"

He studies me for a moment, something shiny lighting his dark irises, and offers a slanted, curvy smile. He flicks his head, then turns toward the end of the hallway. I see him make a stop at his locker and retrieve a motorcycle helmet before he flings the door closed and moves on.

I weave my way through the people crowding the hall, drawing my fingers back through my hair, and trail behind Josh. I glance up and survey some of the seniors that I pass wondering who would leave me a note like that. Smiling faces, every now and then one chirping, 'Hey Jen!' on their way to class, look my way, the same way they always do. I can't help the confusion that probably registers across my forehead.

Josh pushes open the door at the end of the hall and I follow him, slipping into the stairwell, mixing in with a handful of students on their way to wherever. At the ground floor, he exits through another door and I fall in step with him. The crisp air gently floats around us and it feels so good to be outside on an unusually warm fall day.

"Alright, nice try," I tell him. "But if you're just luring me to go makeout somewhere and the whole ice cream thing was a trick, I'm gonna be really mad."

He laughs and starts up the hill toward the parking lot. "We're going for a ride."

"Mm, I see. So then where am I taking you?"

He slips a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slides them on his face as he looks at me with a shake of his head. From the pocket of his jeans, he pulls a keychain and loops it around one finger. His hand makes it jingle as he clasps the keys against his palm.

"What, your motorcycle? Oh, I don't think so, Joshua."

He grins at me as we approach the bike, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "Why not?"

Nervously, I rake my fingertips through my hair and flip it over my shoulder before I fold my arms across my chest. Rocking back and forth on antsy feet, I dig my teeth into my bottom lip as I scan the length of the bike, all its blue and black curves. It's really big up close, shiny and pristine, and if it weren't for the road dust on the tires, I'd think it's never been touched.

I glance up at him, fighting my smile, and shake my head.

He's unlocking a thick cable near the front that holds another helmet, the one I usually see him with. He slides it off, then reaches out to the smaller seat at the back, his palm smacking the black leather a few times. "Come on. You'll look damn good."

"Ha!"

"You don't trust me?"

An uneasy gulp heats my throat and I exhale a soft laugh. "Let's not have that conversation." I take a few steps alongside the bike and reach for one of the handles where I idly trace the shape, then stroke the handbrake with my finger, flicking it gently before it continues its path.

He watches me patiently. My gaze flits over to him, just for a moment. "Is it scary?" I ask him.

"What, the bike?" He shakes his head in reassurance. "Not at all."

"It just seems..." I peer down and assess the thick chrome pipes along the sides. "Like I'd fall off and die."

"I won't let you."

I glance up at him, unconvinced.

"Is it scary when you get thrown like, twenty feet in the air hoping those girls will catch you?" He wonders.

I fold my arms over my chest and can feel a smirk edging up the corner of my lips. "No, because I know what I'm doing."

He offers me a slight shrug. "Well so do I. Just hang onto me." He picks up the shiny pink helmet that he had pulled from his locker and attempts to hand it to me.

My gaze drops to his offer and I regard it with a faint shake of my head. "I've seen other girls in this helmet before. On this same cute little seat right here."

"Oh you have?"

"Mm-hm. It's a small town."

He laughs, glancing off to the edge of the parking lot. Killing time, his throat clenches with a nervous swallow because he knows I'm right. Eventually, he sets his amused gaze back on me. "Yeah, well I've never bought any of them ice cream."

"I do like ice cream."

"Then hop on." He thrusts the pink helmet out at me once more and I glance up with another shake of my head. Blinking a few times, he realizes I'm serious and he huffs a long exhale through his nose.

"Alright," he mumbles. He lifts the offensive helmet to his own head and tugs it on before fastening the chin strap. "How's that?"

Grinning, I assess him -- dark black sunglasses and a glossy pink helmet. "Very cute."

He hums his irritation and passes his cherished, glittering silver helmet to me. I graciously accept and take a minute to secure it on my head.

He swings one leg over the bike, fits his key in the ignition and cranks it to life. The engine roars next to me, then eventually lulls into a low rumble as he positions himself on the seat. Arms out straight, he grips the handles and turns his head to look back at me.

I'm a little hopeful that the pink helmet on his head would put a damper on my attraction to him, but dammit, it's so fucking cute and that doesn't help me at all. 

The motor rumbles again when he revs it with a flick of his fist and the sound alone vibrates through me. I pinch my eyes shut tight and a little squeak echoes in my throat as I hitch one leg over the back of the bike. I balance myself on my toes that just barely reach the pavement and I latch onto his waist, fingertips digging into soft flannel. "Let's go before I change my mind."

He turns his head so I can hear him. "Ready?"

I pick up my feet and set them on the tiny foot rests in the back, bounce my knees a few times. "Yes."

And then we lurch forward like the start of a rollercoaster and instinctively, I tighten my grip on him. Slowly, he guides us out of the parking lot and then I try not to make some panicked squeal when the bike tips in a smooth arc as we pull out onto the main road.

Finally I let out all the breath I'd been holding as the ride picks up, faster but steady on our way into town. The crisp air and sunshine against my face makes me feel so awake, it's like I can feel it swirling inside of me. I feel a little braver and start to look around, wondering for just a moment if anyone in these cars we pass recognizes me, knows my parents, or my older brothers, and wonders why I'm not at school right now. Luckily, it's not a game day and I'm not wearing my uniform.

It's a fleeting thought. I focus on the feel of Josh pressed against me, my thighs on either side of him. They clench tighter the faster he goes and I have to close my eyes to steady my nerves.

At a red light, we slow to a stop. Josh props one foot on the pavement below and turns back to me once more. "You alright back there?"

I nod and feel my hips tilt down a little. I loosen my grip on his sides and slip my arms around his waist. When I do, he cranks the throttle again, sounding the engine underneath us and it amuses me. Then he picks up his foot and we roll ahead when the light changes.

We wind up at the Tasty Freeze on the other side of town and I smile to myself when I realize he wasn't kidding about the ice cream. He finds a spot around the back of the little shack, away from the picnic tables, and cuts the engine.

When we stop, I can still feel the vibrations of the bike buzz through me. They ring in my ears and I don't think I realized how fast my heart was beating until my feet touch down on stable ground. My arms loosen from their death grip on Josh's middle and it takes some effort to straighten out my stiff fingers.

"Did I crush your internal organs?" I call out to him.

"I'm good." He smiles back at me. "So what'd you think?"

I blow out some kind of surprised, loud laugh as I unclasp my helmet. We each pull ours off our heads and I shake my hair out. "I think I like it."

He climbs off the bike and swipes a hand through his hair. "I think I like it too."

I press my hands down on the space between our seats and let my feet dangle above the ground. "So when do I get to drive it?" I wonder with a flick of one eyebrow.

"Ha!" He grins at me and shakes his head. "You are a bad girl. You're going to corrupt me."

"I look forward to that day."

"So two ice cream cones. Anything else, princess?"

As he starts to back away, I narrow my eyes at him in a teasing glare. "Mm, yes. But I'll save my demands for later."

"Promise?" One of those crooked fucking smirks slants across his face and I see his eyebrows jump with excitement. "Sit tight." He points at me. "Don't touch those keys now."

I scoot up to straddle his seat, tip forward and grasp the wide set handles. "These keys?" With one hand I graze the dangling keys in the ignition.

The look he gives me is one I've never seen before from him. His mouth dips open and I see his jaw flex as his gaze falls. He exhales a breath that, for a moment, looks like it hurts him, and he lays a hand just at the base of his ribcage as he turns away. Looking back once more, a slow smile coasts across his lips and he leaves me with the shake of his head.

Laughing to myself, I ease off of the bike and pace for a moment underneath a shady tree. I wonder what it'd be like to be friends with Josh. Are we friends? I drag my fingers through my hair and try to decide if we're way past that... or not even there yet. I should know better. It's been made pretty clear what I mean to him and where he wants me. And I've agreed to it.

I slip my hands into my back pockets and that's when I'm reminded of the folded piece of paper there. That heated anger that had been tempered by the wind on my face starts to swirl through me again. But before I can attempt to rationalize where the note came from, what it means, and whether I even have the right to be mad, I see Josh making his way back.

He holds two ice cream cones in his hands and brings one to his mouth as he swipes his tongue along the dripping vanilla that escapes down the side. He offers me the other one and I glance at it, waiting a beat before I accept it.

"Thank you," I say softly.

He nods and takes his place beside me, up against his motorcycle. "I was right."

My lips close over my ice cream and I press them together, warming the chill that spreads there. "Right about what?"

"You did look damn good on that seat," he says as he peers across the lot behind his dark shades.

I don't miss the way my stomach just plummeted and jerks back up like a yo-yo, all from such a simple confession. "Yeah, it's a pretty good look on you."

He laughs softly. "Pink helmet and all?"

"Mm-hm."

He twists the ice cream cone along his tongue. I blink my gaze over to him, watching his mouth for a moment until the way he flicks his tongue elicits a heated reaction low in my gut. I force myself to shift a bit, repositioning so that I don't focus on the way the seam of my jeans provokes that reaction any more.

"I remember in like, seventh grade, when you were always on your skateboard--"

"Shhh--" He starts to cut me off when his cheeks tug upward with a chuckle. "Hey, I was cool, alright?"

I giggle around another bite of vanilla. "You were definitely cool."

"What were you doing noticing me in seventh grade?"

I tip my head toward the sky as my teeth dig into my lower lip, biting back a grin. 

"Hm?" He hums an amused note and turns to look at me, a curvy smirk along his lips before his tongue swipes at his ice cream once more.

"You had those frosted, blond streaks in your hair--"

"Alright. You're getting the pink helmet on the way back."

My laugh turns into an explosive cackle. It gives me so much satisfaction to catch him off guard and witness that reluctant amusement in his features when I embarrass him. It tapers and I watch him for a moment, the breeze catching the ends of his dark hair, the movements of his jaw as he swallows.

"Did you ever notice me?" My question is hesitant, quiet, and I sort of regret how unguarded it came off. "I mean, before I came out to the field that day."

He exhales a soft laugh. "Are you kidding? You know everybody notices you."

I press my lips together and move a stray lock of hair off my cheek. "I don't care about everybody."

Letting a few silent moments pass, he nods and takes another bite off his ice cream cone. "Do you remember... that Christmas play? The one our whole class had to do?"

I suck in a noisy gasp and reach out to grip his arm. "Yes! Oh my god, we were both in that class."

"Mm-hm."

"Fourth grade."

"And you did some dance," he recalls.

"I was Frosty the Snowman." Squeezing my eyes shut, I laugh at the memory.

"Yes." He grins. "It was then."

"Me in fourth grade dressed as a snowman?"

"One hundred precent."

Another loud giggle escapes me. "No way."

"I remember you did these like, backflips across the stage in your snowman costume--"

"Stop!" I practically shriek. "Oh my god, I'm crying."

"And I was like, _damn_..."

"You are so full of shit," I tease.

He shrugs and his mouth closes around another bite of ice cream. "You wanted to know the first time I really noticed you. I was feelin' your holiday spirit."

My cheeks hurt from smiling and I shake my head at him. "You want me to get my hands on a snowman costume some time and we can see if the magic is still there for you?"

He sputters an unexpected laugh. "That's fucking sick, Jennifer," he attemps to scold me. "We were little kids."

"But like, a sexy snowman--"

The corner of his smile stretches his cheeks. It's genuine and changes his whole face and it facinates me. Hard edges curve, offering a rare glimpse of something vulnerable.

"Just a carrot nose and a scarf," I go on. "And nothing else."

His head tips back as he cracks up and I think it's the first time I've seen him really, truly laugh. I bite into the cone and grin, savoring the enjoyment of watching him so amused.

"And a top hat," I add.

Letting his heavy head fall, his shoulders shake with soft laughter and he smiles down at the pavement. "Oh god," he groans.

"No?"

"Hey now, we're having an innocent... respectful ice cream date here."

I nearly choke on a laugh as I finish my cone. "Oh is that what we're doing?"

He gestures around the parking lot, the small ice cream stand situated in front of a run down shopping center where the Roses used to be but now it's just weeds growing through cracked asphalt. "I mean, I tried," he offers.

"I like it." I taste a stray bit of vanilla from the tip of my finger before murmuring, "I think this is the first date I've had in... a really long time."

"I mean--" He looks away and tosses what's left of his cone in the nearby trashcan. "I don't really do _dates_ , so... it's not much."

I look at him and want to ask why. He's too cool for dates? Doesn't like having conversations? Doesn't want to pay for a girl's meal when he could just get her naked at some party without having to shell out any cash? But I decide against all the questioning and lift my shoulders in a shrug instead. "Dates don't have to be much."

"Why haven't you been on a date in a long time? Isn't that what Sporto's for?" He wonders, peering across the parking lot before he turns his gaze to me.

Softly, I exhale a laugh down toward the ground then shift off the tail of his bike where I was leaning. I dip my fingers into the back pocket of my jeans and retrieve the folded note. Passing it to Josh, I pace a few steps around his motorcycle.

I watch him glance at the square of paper and then peel it open. He takes a moment to examine the handwriting, the taunting _Ask Blake who gave him a blowjob..._ in purple ink and breathes out a soft laugh.

"Nice," he says. "Friday, huh?"

"Last Friday."

He peers up from the note and holds my gaze for a moment. "I bet it was Dave Sanders," he remarks evenly.

A surprised laugh sputters out of me and I shake my head, glancing down at my lap.

"I've always," he continues, "secretly rooted for them to get together--"

"Shut up," I insist with a groan.

"They seem really into each other."

Fighting my smile, I look up, twisting my lips but I feel my cheeks rise anyway as he edges closer to me. "You're not helping."

Crumpling the paper in his palm, he shrugs, then tosses the note into the garbage.

"I mean, I guess I'm no better, right? Friday, especially."

He inhales a deep breath and takes another step closer until his hip connects with mine. "Do you regret what happened?" He asks. "You and me?"

I open my mouth to speak but just feel the hot air that passes across my lips. "I--" I manage a nervous swallow. I don't like that I can't see his eyes but I suppose it lets me maintain some sort of resolve. "Yeah," I sigh. "It was a mistake. I messed up."

His throat clenches and I notice the slight bob of his head as he seems to process my regret.

"What about you?" I wonder. "Do you regret it?"

He tastes his lips for a moment then looks at me with a careless rise and fall of his shoulders. "I mean... whatever."

I can feel the glare heat my eyes. "Right, of course." The way his fucking apathy just hangs there infuriates me, I can feel it burning in the center of my ribcage. "Whatever," my tone mocks his. "Well while it meant absolutely nothing to you, it's something I think about all the time, wishing that it had never happened--"

"So why didn't you just go to that asshole's party instead?" He cuts me off. "Huh?"

"I wish I had." My eyes narrow.

"Why don't you just go be with him? Why do you come looking for me?"

"Josh, I'm done stroking your ego. I've told you I liked you despite the fact that you could not care less--"

"Fine, let's go." He turns to brush past me and swings a leg over his bike. "Come on, this is pointless. I'll take you back to school."

I push myself off his motorcycle mumbling, "I'll walk."

"Stop it. Get on." He straps the silver helmet on and grips the handles. The noise of the ignition startles me, edging me a step back.

"I mean, what do you want me to say, Josh?" My voice swells to be heard over the rumble of his engine. "That it was the best night of my life? That I'm gonna break up with Blake and be with you?"

"You can forget it." He holds out the pink helmet while his other hand impatiently revs the throttle. "Come on."

I snatch the stupid helmet. "Is that what I should do? And then what?" Maybe it'd be different if I felt like Josh was someone worth fighting for. Maybe I could forget all my friends, Blake, my reputation if I thought I meant something real to him. "Sit around in restaurants and wait for you to _not_ show up? Follow you around while you do whatever you want?"

"I never asked for any of that," he insists.

I roll my eyes as I turn on my heel and start to walk. "Of course not," I shout. His bike rolls alongside me but I refuse to get on and just keep talking instead. "It's all my fault, I'm the idiot. Because you've never told me you feel anything for me and yet that night, I came looking for you anyway. So yeah. I regret it."

"Want to pretend it never happened? Done," he grits at me. His boots hold his balance on the ground as he follows me to the edge of the parking lot.

"I should have gone to his cabin after the game. I should have just been there and then I wouldn't have to deal with this." I gesture back to the trashcan, the discarded note. "People are probably talking all kinds of shit about me. Laughing--"

"Do you care?"

"Yes! I care, Josh. Unlike you, I actually care about things, what people think of me."

"Fuck." He breathes out the word in a scoff and looks away. "Why would you care about people who are gonna talk shit? Fuck 'em."

"Yeah, well I guess I don't _fuck_ people as easily as you do."

Even with sunglasses on, I still see the way my words sting him. His only response is the tightening and flexing at the edge of his jaw as he glances down, adjusts on his seat and revs the motor once more. But this time, instead of insisting one more time that I get on, he releases the brake and peels off, the echo of the roaring engine all that lingers beside me.


	8. Sunday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Here is an Under the Bleachers update! This is an AU Joshifer story and contains adult content. Enjoy!

I glance out my car window at the shiny blue motorcycle parked on the driveway and think how easy it would be to just leave it there. This stupid pink helmet that sits on my passenger seat – an unfair reminder of my most recent afternoon with Josh where he sped off on his bike and I was left with this.  


A few days ago, I wanted to drive over here and chuck it through his window. But that anger as tapered off and what I’m left with now is a quiet sense of acceptance of my feelings for him. I don’t need anything from him. That’s how I keep winding up disappointed. I was seeking validation, trying to break him, admit anything to me. But I don’t care.

I do know what he can make me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever known. No. Not what _he_ can make me feel, but what _I allow myself_ to feel when I selfishly indulge it, and that’s what I want again. No games. Hell, he can say nothing for all I care. 

But I know he’s there in his house and something inside my body tugs with this easy desire for him. It’s not frantic or desperate anymore. But it’s a constant presence and no matter how pissed off I was at our conversation at Tasty Freeze, my thoughts always drift back to how hard I came that one afternoon at my house. I can try to fight it, but a feeling that intense is a powerful, lingering thing.

I grab the helmet and push open my car door. I’m not angry. I care about one thing and that’s finding that feeling again. 

At his door, I knock and wait. There’s hardly anything I can detect inside, no giggling kids, no running feet. And then the door is pulled open and while I was expecting Josh, I’m greeted instead by a man, older, not exactly thrilled to be opening his door – his dad maybe? 

I don’t miss the quick glance of his that falls down my body.

“I–” I start when he looks at me expectantly. “I was looking for Josh. Is he here?”

He eyes the helmet in my hands and then steps back to hold open the door. “Yeah,” he answers, then lazily gestures to the back of the house before turning to the living room. “Probably in his room.”

He reclaims his chair in front of the television and there doesn’t seem to be much information he needs from me. So hesitating just a moment, I step inside. 

I’m reminded of that first time I came over here to find Josh without a shirt making macaroni and cheese at nine o’clock at night amid frantic little kids.

It’s quiet now aside from the rumbling engines on whatever Josh’s dad is watching on TV. The late Sunday afternoon sun casts a dusty glow through the house as I make my way to the back where I was directed.

I see a closed bedroom door at the end of the narrow hall and glance around for another sign of his room. Strange that his father – if that’s who that was – had nothing to ask me, no curiosity about who was this girl, what does she want with my son? Maybe girls show up here looking for Josh all the time and he’s used to it.

After a soft tap on his door with my knuckle, I wait and get no answer. So I quietly turn the knob and crack it open.

Inside I spot Josh laying face-down on his bed. He’s turned so his head is near the foot of the mattress, like he just fell across it and passed out. All he’s wearing are a pair of frayed jeans and earbuds in his ears.

I consider leaving the helmet, closing the door and going. But I’m kind of frozen as I look at him, at the way the stream of sunlight through his curtains shines golden across his bare back, peppered with light brown freckles. The valley between his shoulderblades traps my gaze for a moment before it travels the curve of his shoulders and the bend there, with one arm tucked beneath his head.

With some hesitation, but that desire I have driving me, I make my way inside the room. His back softly rises and falls with his easy breaths. When I close the door and set the helmet on a nearby dresser, he stirs. He shifts his head and I walk to the edge of the bed and gently pull out one earbud. 

“Josh,” I whisper with an amused smile.

“Hm,” he grumbles into his arm.

“You have company.”

With a sharp inhale, he lifts his head, one eye barely peeking open.

My teeth pinch down on my lip and I have to smile at him. His eyes take a sleepy moment to focus before he seems to register that it’s me.

“Hey,” he exhales. Slowly, he pushes himself up and glances back at his door, as he removes his headphones. We haven’t spoken since the ice cream date just before he sped off and left me in the parking lot. “Hey, um–” he starts, as he scratches the back of his head and shifts into a sitting position. “I’m sorry about the other day–”

I reach for the hem of my sweater and lift it up over my head. “Mm-hm,” I hum. As the ends of my hair fall across my bare shoulders, my skin flicks alive with excitement.

“Uh–” he stalls as his gaze descends and my fingers go to the button on my jeans.

“I have no regrets,” I tell him as I inch the pants down. I tilt my hips back and slip them off. “Okay? I want you to know that.”

I see him swallow hard and eventually lift his lashes as he peers up at me. His voice is low when he answers, “Neither do I.” He sits forward and a hand goes to my waist where he eagerly slides his palm across my skin and grips my hip.

I’m quick to stop him, slipping my hand beneath his and I fling it away. “Mm, you can touch when I say you can.”

He watches his own hand land on the bed where he leans back and props himself up. He breathes out the beginnings of a _Fuck_ – as he glances back up at me. 

I’ve never seen his eyes like this. I’ve seen them glow, hot and determined and focused. But right now they’re fascinated and hopeful and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel powerful. For once, it’s not a push-pull, his stubbornness versus mine. I like that too, but in this moment, I need to own him – without wondering what his next move is going to be. I’ll make every damn move I want and he can wonder.

“Well maybe one regret,” I muse, thoughtfully glancing upward as my fingers slip beneath my underwear and the fabric easily coasts down my thighs to the floor. “That first time…” I reach back to unclasp my bra and let it slide away from my body. “Do you even remember?”

I can hear his breath. The way it stalls, hesitates to exhale like if he does, I’m going to pull some cruel trick on him. Cautiously, he wets his bottom lip then his eyes flit lower, then higher, as if truly conflicted. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I don’t regret being with you.” I step forward and slide a knee onto his mattress. My other knee straddles his lap and I ease myself lower.

That exhale finally blows through him. Instinctively, his hips raise. 

“But I regret running out of there,” I tell him.

Absently, he nods, his gaze still roaming my body.

I lean closer and feel my peaked nipples brush his chest. My lips barely graze his and I whisper, “So let’s try again.”

His mouth falls harder on mine where a throaty groan echoes. Without hesitation, his hand finds my waist where he tugs at me, then slides upward seeking out as much as he can before I quickly grasp his wrist.

My lips release his and I offer a playful smile. I squeeze him there, utter a teasing little warning while my lips find his neck.

“Augh, God,” Josh breathes out, tipping his head back. I feel his airy laugh. “But you’re right here. Look at you.” He struggles in my grasp, attempting to tug his arm free.

“You underestimate my strength.” I follow his desperate arms up over his head, tilting myself against him.

“You underestimate how bad I want you,” he counters. His hands find purchase on the back of his head like he’s under arrest.

“Mm, yeah? What do you want?”

He can’t exactly answer when my kisses land on his lips. I release his wrists, wondering if they’ll stay put and wrap my arms around his back. His mouth is magic, he tastes like some of my favorite memories and at the same time, like everything unknown. I take my time there, just kissing him and getting lost in the way he feels underneath me. For once, we’re not rushed or frantic, where half of me is worried we’re going to get caught. We easily could. Clearly, we’re not alone in this house, but I don’t care. And I get the sense that no one else does either, so I flick the speck of worry away.

I shift my hips and gently press until he begins to fall across the bed onto his back.

A quiet groan rumbles in his throat. He reaches out one hand as his head hits the pillow. Before it can skim my thigh, I grab it again.

“It does not surprise me whatsoever that you’re this hardheaded.” I grin at him and pin his grabby hand to the pillow.

“They have a mind of their own.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You’re pretty damn touchable,” he murmurs with a quirk of his lips.

As much fun as it is to pin him down, I let go of his wrists and drag my touch down his chest and the rest of me follows. “So you never answered me. What is it you want?” I place a few kisses down his stomach, but I let my gaze flick back up to him.

“Well first off, I want to wake up to you in my room taking your clothes off.” He lays there, seeming content to keep his hands tucked beneath his head for the moment. “Is that too much to ask?”

I giggle softly. My fingers go to the button on his jeans. “Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

He laughs. “And I want you to let me touch you.”

I press my lips together and look down with a smile as I tug his jeans down. He lifts his hips to help me and I take his boxers down with them. He kicks everything to the floor and I crawl over him.

It’s the first time neither of us has a single article of clothing on in the handful of times we’ve been together, had our hands and mouths all over each other. It’s intimate in an entirely new way.

I breathe in deeply and make my way slowly back up his body. “Okay, you can touch me.”

Our skin grazes, my hips skim his, and I hum my appreciation when I feel his hands on my back. They trail down my hips, then the backs of my thighs where they tug.

A quick moan squeaks inside of me and I pull my mouth off his. 

“Scoot up,” he says, his voice low.

My brow furrows and I inch myself up to straddle his waist.

“More.” He bumps my rear end and I rock against him. 

“Where would you like me?”

Laying back, he moves a hand and beckons me closer with a finger. “More.”

I glance down at my thighs spread over his torso and laugh softly.

“Did you like it when I used my tongue on you that day?” He asks.

My gaze lifts and a pulse that I swear exists only for that memory shoots down the center of my body. “I think you know I liked it.”

“Let me do it again.”

I manage to swallow and look back at the space behind me on his twin bed.

“Come here.” And then he scoots down a little.

I sit up and start to slide off of him. “Where do you–?”

“Get up on your knees,” he softly instructs. “And come sit up here.”

I laugh nervously. “Up where?”

“On my mouth,” he smiles.

My eyebrows raise and I glance around the room. I don’t want to seem clueless but I’ve never sat on a guy’s face before. 

“You don’t have to,” he adds.

“Well I know I don’t _have_ to.”

His gaze roams over me once more and I notice him taste his bottom lip. Then those lashes lift, he looks at me and flicks his head briefly. “Come up here.”

A smile teases my lips.

“You look so fucking good,” he sighs. “Please.”

The way his voice is all breath – God. I lift up on my knees and move up on the bed. I can’t help but giggle the closer I get to his head and I’m sure he’s used to girls with way more experience but I can’t care about that right now.

“It’s just–” I bite down on my lip and tip my chin lower. “I mean, then your face will be like, right there.”

“Trust me,” a smile slants across his features. “I want my face right there.”

I laugh, hiding my face for just a moment and then find the confidence again that I had when I walked in here. I swing my hair over one shoulder as I maneuver next to his head. Josh scoots down again and I find my position, situating a knee on either side of his face.

He guides me to him and slips a hold around the tops of my thighs. I ease myself lower where I feel the nudge of his mouth, the faint drag of his tongue.

I gasp unexpectedly and flinch upward but he reaches around and pulls me closer. Glancing down, I watch him, the way he uses his fingertips, tastes more of me and I sink down against him.

A broken moan floats from me and I have to clamp down on my lip with my teeth. “Oh my god,” I whisper and reach out to rest my palms on the edge of the bed. Soon, my hips start to mimic the gradual roll of his tongue.

He groans softly when I start to move on top of him.

I struggle to contain the cries that threaten to escape my throat. The stroke of his tongue makes me shake, makes everything beneath my skin just completely unwind until I feel like I have nothing to hold me up.

I reach back, shift slightly and my palm presses against his chest. When my hips tilt forward, he traces my clit and I gasp once again as the feeling ignites a tiny heated flare down the length of my spine and swells deep in my core.

I exhale heavily. “Oh fuck!” I have nothing to scream into and I can’t take it. If he pushes me any closer to the edge of my control, I don’t know what will happen and unlike the last time he made me lose it, this time, there is someone else in the house.

I surge forward, grasp his hair in my hands and tilt myself away from his face. “Ohmygod, I can’t,” I mumble. “Josh, fuck, I can’t be quiet when you do that.”

He exhales hard and swipes a hand across his mouth. Quickly I scoot off and reposition myself to climb on top of him and ease back to his waiting hard-on. 

I reach down and guide him inside of me and I’m so slick, the way he fills me is perfect. He grasps my hips and pulls me closer, swearing, all gravel, all restrained groans as he sinks further. My chest lowers to his and it feels so good on top of him completely, savoring the warmth of his skin. My hips rock to meet the slow, deliberate rhythm beneath me. He tugs one of my thighs up his side and that slow pace eventually quickens.

We’re all hot breathy kisses, hushed panting. It’s urgent, but not desperate like it was at that party. It’s completely different. I exist for only this moment.

Possessive fingers tangle in his hair. I’m needy with his mouth. I can taste the subtle reminder of me there on his tongue. 

His hands grip my ass and it’s so damn sexy. I break off his kiss and rest my forehead at the base of his neck. Instead of a desperate hope that I’ll get off, the near-orgasm wave that I wish I could ride forever sneaks up on me. My hips maintain their rhythm and it’s euphoric. I don’t stop. 

Josh exhales another airy “Fuck” into my shoulder and bites down on my skin there. I barely keep from crying out as I tilt into him and tip over the edge until I know I’m going to come. It spirals and spreads and consumes my whole body and I let out a muffled cry into the curve of his shoulder. He grips me harder as he follows. 

Both of us swallow our noises, bury mouths against each other’s skin as our bodies tense. Hands fist messy sheets as our hips jerk unsteadily a couple more times. Finally, I exhale a shaky breath and my muscles start to go slack.

I don’t know where I go for a moment, but it takes some time for me to float back down, for my heart rate to slow. I manage to slide off of him and catch a breath of fresh air. 

“I um–” I start with a hushed laugh. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He attempts a heavy inhale through his parted mouth and blinks a few times as he seems to try to regain some focus. “It’s in the hallway.”

“Crap,” I whisper as I breathlessly sit up to scan his room for my clothes that I really don’t want to put on.

He reaches over to snag one of his t-shirts off the chair next to the bed. “Wear this. You’ll be fine.”

“If I get caught with no pants, coming out of your room, I will die.”

“No one will catch you,” he assures me. “I guarantee my dad is asleep in the living room.”

I glance down at him and examine the soft t-shirt he tossed to me. “So that was your dad who answered the door?”

“Yeah,” he sniffs. “Sorry if he was a dick.”

I laugh softly. “What about your brother and sister?”

“They’re probably at the neighbor’s. You’d know if they were here.”

Nodding in acceptance, I slip the shirt over my head and climb over him to get out of bed. With quick feet, I make my way to the door, holding my breath as if that’s going to make me invisible. I’m able to scoot across the hall to his bathroom and make it back undetected.

When I return, I see Josh situated under the sheet against his pillow, and I pounce onto the bed to crawl in beside him.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” he says as I tuck in next to him on the small bed. “Sometimes you run out on me.”

“Sometimes you run out on me.”

An amused hum echoes in his throat and he looks down at me. “Stay here.”

My head lifts and I prop myself up on my elbow.

“I mean, it’s not much,” he adds with a shrug.

With one hand, I idly trace down his forearm and he lifts his hand into mine. “So what about your mom?” I figure if I’m here and actually getting answers from him, I might as well keep asking. “Where is she?”

He shifts on his back and stretches his neck against the pillow. “Logan Correctional,” he says. “Last I heard.”

My brow furrows in confusion and a quiet moment lingers there. “She’s in jail?” I wonder.

“Prison,” he corrects me as he reaches up to scratch the stubble on his jawline. “It’s prison when you’ve got a few felony convictions.” He inhales deeply with a shrug of his shoulders as if that’s all there is to say.

Stalling, I manage a nervous swallow. “What happened?”

“Ah, I mean, she’s been there since I was like, six, so…” he tells me. “I hardly know her.”

“But your brother and sister—“

“She’s not their mom.”

“Oh.”

“But… she’s never around either. She comes and goes. I hate her around Zach and Emma, though, so I’d rather she just go.”

I watch him, the way he fixes his gaze on the ceiling while he speaks and I don’t know what to say.

“You know, it’s like, she shouldn’t bother coming around if she’s just going to take off and disappear for a few months. My dad falls back into his same old shit whenever she’s around anyway.”

“What kind of same old shit?”

He exhales heavily. “Ah, you don’t need to know. Stupid shit.”

I take a quiet moment to study the way his jaw flexes, the way he chews his bottom lip, his thick neck when he swallows. “I’m glad they have you,” I tell him. “Emma and Zach.”

A soft, humorless laugh escapes him. “Pretty pathetic.”

“No. It’s not,” I tell him. “I know you’re a great big brother.”

He pauses thoughtfully, one hand resting beneath his head and fills the quiet with a slow inhale. “Remember that Christmas play we talked about? Fourth grade?”

I smile. “Yeah.”

“And I said it was the first time I noticed you.”

“Mm-hm. You couldn’t resist my Frosty the Snowman costume.”

He nods and the corner of his mouth perks upward for just a moment and then as he blinks, his expression turns almost serious. “Do you remember the present?”

My brow furrows. “The present.”

“Not an actual present,” he says. “But we sang some song where we all had to bring in a fake wrapped present . Nothing real, just like an empty box with wrapping paper. And on the day we were supposed to bring them in, I didn’t have one. And Miss whatever-her-name-was like, called me out in front of everyone–”

I can’t help breathe out a laugh while I watch him recount this memory. 

“I don’t know, I guess I didn’t know how to wrap a present, or that wasn’t something my dad would have helped me with. But…” And then he stops to sort of laugh at himself. “Anyway, at school, just before the play started you brought me an extra one. It’s so weird, it’s like this really vivid memory. You, dressed like a snowman, and the red wrapping paper. I don’t know why I remember that–”

“I remember that.”

His head turns on the pillow and he looks at me. I look back and we’re quiet while my eyes dance across his features. I’ve admired his face so many times, the surprising way it changes, the warmth of his relaxed gaze.

He swallows and then speaks softly. “Wanna go to sleep?”

My teeth graze my lower lip as I smile. “I could.”

He retrieves one hand from underneath his pillow and rubs his eye. “Let’s sleep.” Settling down against his pillow, he turns toward me. 

As I let my eyes flutter shut, I think about how long ago he noticed who I was. I remember that empty little shoebox I found and wrapped myself to bring to school the next day. We fit ourselves together on his small bed and the nearness of him elicits an easy calm throughout my entire body, one that settles over me when I realize just how long we’ve noticed each other.


End file.
